


Nightmares

by Avelera



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Horror, M/M, Nazgul - Freeform, Nazgul!Thorin, Resurrection, Romance, There's far more amnesia than necromancy in this fic, eventually, going for the Darkest Fix-It Fic Award, honestly Winter Solder!Thorin would be a better tag for it, the dwarven rings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/pseuds/Avelera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo and Thorin grow closer to one another as the company comes closer to the mountain. Yet something lurks in Smaug’s hoard, a trap planted by Sauron to ensnare whoever controls Erebor: one of the lost dwarven rings of power.<br/>Bilbo watches Thorin change before his eyes, becoming obsessed with the gold of Erebor and the Arkenstone, and it only grows worse when Thorin discovers one of the dwarven rings. The will of Sauron persists even where mortal bodies should fail, and he has sensed that the One Ring lies somewhere near his newest servant. With Thorin now enslaved through the dwarven ring by Sauron, can Bilbo save himself and his beloved before both are lost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by Vulgarweed, who took my musings on the possibility of resurrecting Thorin in Middle Earth and twisted it into something so horrible I could not resist writing it. As the raising of the dead is almost universally black magic in the Tolkien universe, I have decided to go for the darkest fix-it fic possible.
> 
> If you'd like to follow the progress of this fic between chapters, check out http://www.avelera.tumblr.com/tagged/nightmares-fic for all my ranting and raving throughout the creative process.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Smaug is deceitful, but Sauron plays a longer game than he can see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prologue-Chapter 3 have been beta'd by the incredible Vulgarweed. Go forth and read her fics, for she is a god amongst Lord of the Rings and Good Omens fanfiction writers.

Smaug stirred. It had been long since his dreams were troubled by movement from the small creatures of the world, but the thrush’s knocking had lifted him from the deepest levels of slumber. Now he skirted the edge of dreams, lulled by visions of gold both real and imagined. The sound of footfalls scrabbling across his floor brought him the rest of the way back to the waking world.

His great nostrils _whuffed_ as he caught the creatures that dared enter his domain, and by the front door no less! Such boldness may once have caught his curiosity, but once recognizing the scent his lips peeled back in disgust. Goblins. Phaw. Of no good even to eat, and they rarely wore armor or jewels of any worth, content as they were with crude iron and the various offal peeled or plucked from their enemies for decoration. Though at times dragons and goblins may find themselves on the same side during the great battles of old, it was entirely a coincidence as far as Smaug was concerned. After all, dragons had _standards._  

He took a deep, sleepy breath down to the pit of his jewel-encrusted belly, prepared to send a piercing gout of white-hot flame narrow enough to vaporize a man without singing his boots. Yet something caught his attention as the foul creatures drew nearer, and he released the breath through his nostrils. Dragons are able to feel, down to the ounce, every coin and trinket in their hoard. And while the approaching goblins carried no great wealth in their arms or weapons, they did between them possess _something_ … an item that sent ripples through Smaug’s sense of his hoard, and a thrill of pleasure down his spine.

“My my, a ring of power?” Smaug purred just as the goblins rounded the corner. The two went rigid with terror at the sound of his voice. One attempted to run before he was drawn up short by his companion’s clawed hand and a stream of angry Black Speech.

Smaug smirked. “I have not felt one such as that since…well, since I became King Under the Mountain.” He chuckled to himself, the roar of it filling the cavern and bouncing off the walls. The goblins shrank against each other, their eyes tracking up, up, up the mighty bulk that was Smaug the Terrible. “And if I’m not mistaken, that is the very same ring that the rats took with them when they fled. What a shame. But no matter, it has returned.” The smell of blood joined the foul stench of goblin as the leader of the two buried his claws deeper into his fellow’s arm, and the acrid stench of their terror roiled off the two like sweat.

“We… we bring a message from the Necromancer of Dol Guldur, oh Smaug the Great,” said the goblin in Black Speech. Smaug’s lip twitched in annoyance as the harsh syllables fell on his ears, but he was no stranger to that tongue.

“Hmmph, never heard of him,” said Smaug dismissively. “What message does your master send? Be quick.”

“He…our master wishes an alliance,” the goblin stuttered. He released his fellow and scrambled through the pockets of his ragged leather jerkin, producing a heavy gold ring set with square-cut emerald. “H-he offers the ring of your ancient enemy as a gesture of good will.”

“Does he now?”  Smaug crooned. His great bulk unfurled and quick as lightning he encircled the two goblins. They stumbled back, only to realize they were surrounded on all sides. “Surely he does not mean Thror? That one was neither ancient nor an enemy, even with all his armies he was a mere annoyance to be brushed aside. Nevertheless, it is thoughtful of your master to restore this treasure that slipped my grasp. Why don’t you leave it here?”

“Ack! I’m not to give you the ring unless you agree to our…terms…” To the goblin’s credit, he didn’t even finish the sentence before realizing the foolishness of his protests, surrounded as he was by calamity-made-flesh that was Smaug. “I-if we leave it here, will you consider our master’s offer?”

“He thinks very highly of himself does he not, your master?” said Smaug. “One wonders at his intelligence, if he is willing to give such a kingly gift to one of the few powers in the world that can destroy it! After all, there is nothing to be gained from giving away such a trinket. For it is of little use unless one is a dwarf, or unless one may control others through it. But the only one who may do that is the lord of all the …Ah!”

Smaug brought his snout in close to the goblins, ignoring their rank stench and took a deep breath that nearly knocked them from their feet with the backdraft. “Aaah! I see now!” Smaug said and laughed to himself. The goblins were now shaking so hard it was a wonder they could stand. “’The Necromancer of Dol Guldur’? Is that what he is calling himself these days? How far the mighty have fallen, that one such as him must now use goblin slaves to do his bidding!”

Smaug uncoiled his great tail, creating an opening for the goblins. “I see the shape of his plans now. He hopes that adding this trinket to my hoard may give him some small power over me. You may tell him that the gift is accepted, but even if he should regain the master ring he so foolishly lost, it will not be enough. His time has come and past. This is the era of Smaug.”

The goblin leader dropped the ring from shaking hands, and Smaug shivered with pleasure as it entered his hoard. The two messengers broke and ran, their tiny forms like ants scuttling towards the door. Smaug spared the dwarven ring a glance and then turned his attention to watch to the goblins as they scrambled over the mounds of treasure, the gold slipping beneath them like sand.

“On second thought, what care have I if Sauron receives my message?” Smaug mused aloud. “Let him wonder for a bit. It will give him something to do with his plentiful spare time.” Smaug inhaled.

The flame arced straight and true, a single streak of white fire shooting forward like a spear. The goblins had no time to scream. It cut through their armor as if it were no more than paper, and their flesh melted like butter. The fire did not stop once it has consumed such measly targets, but flashed against the wall clear on the other side of the great dwarven hall, adding another scorch mark to the stone. Only a puff of ash, and the pale outline of two figures fleeing in terror, imprinted in soot on the wall, gave any testament that the goblins had even existed.

And with that, Smaug curled back in on himself like a cat around his new treasure. Soon it would be forgotten amongst the vast hoard, only to be recalled should it be stolen.

 There, it _waited_. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the dwarves party hard, and Thorin makes a request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this fic I will be following the events of "The Hobbit" book (up to a point), but using the movie characterization. This will be most visible in my interpretation of Thorin, as he is based heavily on Richard Armitage's portrayal as well as his vision for the character as stated in various interviews. I only point this out to acknowledge how Thorin's actions and dialogue in this fic would be extremely OOC for the book version of the character.
> 
> This chapter has been beta'd by the lovely Vulgarweed! Go forth and read her amazing fics!

Lake-town was alight with music and merriment, and the tavern where Thorin and Company were housed was at the center of the whirlwind. Overjoyed at the news of the King Under the Mountain’s return, the people of Lake-town held nothing back as they celebrated the anticipated return of their prosperity. Lights were strung up between the houses, reflecting in the water below the floating town, and music wafted through the streets. The moon was a new crescent in the sky, no broader than a nail paring, and the company still had some weeks until Durin’s Day, when the door into the mountain would reveal itself, and time to rest until then.

At first Thorin had graciously received every toast, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips at the exuberant reception. But Bilbo could see somewhere around the fifth toast that the smile had become forced, and Thorin’s eyes shadowed. By the seventh (or was it the tenth?) Thorin had used the cover of Bofur, Dori, and Oin striking up a song in the corner to escape. None of the humans seemed to notice, they were all well into their cups, and the other dwarves were too caught up in toasting and being toasted by one another to notice the absence of their leader. 

“Thorin has never been one to enjoy this sort of thing,” said Balin with a sigh when Bilbo inquired. “Not since the days of the court in Erebor.” Balin, usually one of the more sober members of the party, stared down into his full mug, and when he spoke his words was slurred and melancholy. “Beautiful days those were. We drank from jewel-encrusted goblets and feasted on the finest foods from all across the land. Every kingdom for hundreds of miles would send emissaries and rich gifts to Thror. On nights like that, Thorin would play for us on the harp…”

“Thorin plays the harp?” said Bilbo, not sure whether to be amused or impressed at the image of the stoic dwarf prince plucking at such a delicate instrument. But when he thought on it, imagining Thorin’s dark head bowed in concentration as strains of music poured through shining dwarven halls, any amusement turned into a pang of regret at what had been lost. “He never mentioned.”

“Aye, and even then he put such heart into as to make the very stones weep. And that was before…” said Balin, then stopped and cleared his throat. A great solemnity came over him whenever he spoke of lost Erebor, and the wine had nearly pushed him over the edge to openly weeping. “It has been long since I've heard him play. I suppose to him it belongs to a different time.”

“Well, I should very much like to hear him someday,” said Bilbo, patting Balin’s shoulder to soothe the older dwarf.

Balin accepted the gesture and cleared his throat past the welling emotion. “You should ask him then, laddie.”

“Well, you said his heart's not really in it anymore…”

“I think for you he might make an exception,” said Balin enigmatically. Another roar went up from the crowd and Dwalin emerged from the throng to clap an iron-shod hand over his brother’s shoulder. He roared something in Khuzdûl, which Bilbo quickly realized was an invitation to a drinking contest as Balin was dragged away and set down at a smaller table, where rows of tankards were arrayed before them. It was apparent from the mischevious grin that spread across Balin’s face, and the more sinister one across Dwalin’s, that Bilbo had lost his conversation partner to an old rivalry.

In truth, his head was beginning to spin and he thought perhaps Thorin had the right idea to escape the party. Hobbits, while hardy, were no match for dwarves once they hit their stride. The room was growing warm and stuffy, the volume increasing as the other dwarves roared encouragement to Balin or Dwalin. Bilbo saw his chance and stole, quick and quiet, out of the tavern and on to the docks that made up the streets of Lake-town.

The fresh air brought immediate relief, for the night was warm and pleasant, with the faintest hints of autumn in the cool breezes that rippled across the water. Bilbo slipped his hands in his pocket (brushing the ring with the back of his fingers, just to be certain it was still there of course) and began to stroll the length of the docks, thinking a short walk might be just the thing to clear his head.

On the far west end of the town, as far as one could go from the festivities without leaving the settlement, Bilbo espied a figure seated on the edge of the pier. His identity might have been a mystery, if not for the fact that here at the western edge was the clearest unobstructed view of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo paused, for quick and light as hobbits are he had not yet been detected, and so had a few private moments to watch Thorin Oakenshield from afar. 

The pale light of the moon washed the lines of care from Thorin's face and glinted off the streaks of silver in his hair. He looked strangely young, even vulnerable here in his solitude, for there was something exposed and hopeful in his gaze as he looked into the distance. He had stripped off his heavy iron-toed boots and rolled up his trousers to the knee. His feet trailed in the water. 

In fact he appeared so peaceful, so absurdly _young_ , that Bilbo thought it might be best to leave Thorin to this rare moment of solitude. But before he could turn away, Thorin's gruff voice spoke. “I know you are there, burglar. Come, sit with me.” Bilbo sighed in defeat.

“Lovely night, isn’t it?” Bilbo said casually as he settled down at Thorin’s side.

“Hmm,” Thorin agreed. “I'd have thought you’d be at the feast. The others will surely miss you, oh barrel-rider.” Thorin’s voice held the slightest hint of humor at the new nickname, only detectable to those who knew him well. It had quickly made the rounds amongst the company as one of the titles Bilbo had earned along the journey—and appreciated and deserved as it was, Bilbo could not help but feel a bit silly when he heard it.

“I could say the same to you, oh Thorin son of Thráin, may your beard grow ever longer,” said Bilbo. “Isn’t this feast in your honor? In the Shire we would find it terribly rude to vanish in the middle of one’s own party.” 

“It is still too soon for parties,” said Thorin without meeting Bilbo’s eye. “There will be time enough for that once we have regained the mountain.” 

“You seemed to be enjoying it well enough earlier,” said Bilbo. In truth, Thorin had looked every inch the conquering hero when the people of Lake-town had recognized him and paid him due honors. 

“Surely even you would not begrudge me that?” said Thorin defensively. 

“No, no not at all,” said Bilbo hastily. “I suppose after so many years, it might be pleasant to regain a little bit of what was lost. And what’s to come, with any luck. But I understand why you left, at least I think I do.” Thorin looked up at this, and Bilbo found himself speaking in a rush, rather flustered to have the dwarf prince’s attention so fixed on him, lest he be wrong in his assessment. “It’s still not done yet, is it? A rest is all well and good, but it is only a short relief until you have retaken Erebor. And what if the quest fails? How could you face those people, or your own people? I understand how any joy can turn to ashes in your mouth at the thought. Better to come out here and think about what still must be done.”

“Perhaps that ring granted you other powers than invisibility,” mused Thorin. “For it seems you have gained the ability to read thoughts. You are right, once I might have enjoyed festivities in my honor, but now? It makes me uneasy, as if we’re tempting fate.” 

“Oh, but come now,” Bilbo said. “We’ve made it this far, and you’ve spent quite enough time talking about reclaiming your home. Why not take a little time to dream of what comes after? Tell me of the court of Thorin, King Under the Mountain, and the great feasts he will hold to celebrate his victory!”

Yet his attempt at cheer seemed to have failed, for Thorin went very still as Bilbo spoke, and he stared up at the moon as if looking down a long tunnel with no end in sight, one lined with untold hardships.

“Stop that!” said Bilbo, and swatted Thorin, who blinked, stunned, as if he had just been dragged free of a nightmare. Or perhaps he was merely shocked at Bilbo being so audacious as to swat him as if he were a sulking child. “I’m fully aware that you will spend the first years up to your ears in petty squabbles and mucking out dragon excrement. But there will be pleasant times as well.”

Thorin gave an amused snort. “I admit I hadn’t even thought of the dragon's leavings.”

“I imagine it will be awful. It’s probably piled to the ceiling,” Bilbo said, pleased to see some of the haunted look had left Thorin’s eyes as he gave a short bark of a laugh. 

“Just one more thing to worry about. Perhaps it will make good fertilizer,” said Thorin. He settled back on the dock, no longer staring blankly across the water, but rather out of the corner of his eye towards Bilbo. “In truth I have not allowed myself to think on the pleasant times, for it only made the work ahead seem all the more daunting. And I feared if I allowed myself to be lost to pleasant daydreams it might dull my edge, for it is all too easy to be lost in such fantasies.”

“Fine then, don’t have to tell me until after we've won! But I will hold you to it,” said Bilbo. Thorin smiled in response.

“My thanks,” said Thorin. “But, unfair as it is, I would know yours, if you will tell me.”

"My what?” said Bilbo.

“Tell me your vision of our victory. Each member of the company has thought of what Erebor could be, once it is renewed. But what of the halfling?” said Thorin. His voice voice rumbled low and quiet, though they were alone. A faint shiver ran down Bilbo’s spine. He felt as if he were being asked something very different, sitting out here alone with Thorin in the moonlight, their heads bowed together as they discussed the future. And he found himself a little at a loss.

“I hadn’t really thought about it. I suppose I thought once I had helped you reclaim your home it would be time to return to mine.” Even as he spoke he felt a part of himself resisting that future he had once thought set. Why did a hole seem to open in his heart at the thought of returning to his empty house? “I would not presume to tell the dwarves how to run their own kingdom.”

Except they would probably make a mess of it. They’d insult the elves, or go chasing goblins, and be at war again before the end of the year. Bilbo could not help but fear that dwarves who were incapable of grasping the concept of stalling for time while in the hands of hungry trolls would be unable to wrap their stubborn heads around the finer points of diplomacy. He could feel his own head beginning to ache at the thought.

“Well, I’d like to see the company all settled, and their families of course. It will be an enormous task to make Erebor livable again, but with all your kin come down from the Blue Mountains it will be easier. Your home will be back to normal in no time.” Thorin nodded at this, his gaze contemplative as he listened. “And once that is complete you should hold a great celebration, and invite the men of Lake-town and the uh…the elves.”

Thorin jerked away at this. “Are you mocking me? Need I remind you we just escaped that treacherous lot? I’d rather see Erebor remain in the hands of Smaug than allow them to set foot in its halls!”

“I haven’t forgotten anything, Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo huffed. “So you can stop being so dramatic. The elves can be either your strongest allies or your greatest foe, and this feud will not mend itself. But think! Wouldn’t it stick in Thranduil’s craw that once returned to your former status you not only mend the ties, but invite him as a guest to your halls, when he could not even spare us proper food and shelter when we were starving and lost in his? He can hardly go to war over superior hospitality, but can’t you imagine how will it hurt his pride to be seen as the petty one in the whole sorry affair?”

“And since when did our burglar become a diplomat?” said Thorin. His expression was still thunderous, but there was interest in his eyes that could not be concealed.

Bilbo snorted. “Hardly diplomacy. Any hobbit knows that nothing wins a feud like being the first one to extend your hospitality. All of the offenders are livid of course, but even that grudge will die after a generation. It’s a shame none of you have any children you could marry off to Thranduil’s son.”

“Marry…!” Thorin choked in outrage, but Bilbo was not done.

“Oh my yes, can’t you just imagine? Thranduil’s youngest in his silk robes standing across from a young dwarf all in armor, the picture it would make? Fili and Kili probably aren’t suited for the groom, perhaps another member of the company. Doesn't Glóin have a child?” 

“Gimli will not be running away with any elf as long as I’m alive,” growled Thorin. Bilbo could hardly keep his laughter in check at the absurdity of the image, and he might have continued with his description of such an impossible wedding if Thorin didn’t appear on the verge of exploding with rage. 

“Fine, have it your way. But let me tell you one thing, love will find its way, in the end,” Bilbo teased. “All hobbits know there’s no love potion as strong as parental disapproval. I swear for every family feud that springs up in the Shire, we see ten marriages before it runs its course. And with your luck you’ll have a flock of rebellious young elflings running around Erebor before the year is out.”

“Perhaps the mountain _is_ indeed better in Smaug's keeping,” muttered Thorin.

“Now you and I both know that's not true," Bilbo said.

Thorin sighed and looked out across the water. “There is another service not included in your contract. Once I thought that humbling the elves would be one of the greatest pleasures of retaking Erebor. But I’m beginning to see that I must put such pettiness behind me if I am to be a good king to my people.” Thorin turned to Bilbo, his eyes searching. “I cannot say I’m cheered at the thought, but months ago I would have flown into a rage. You smash my preconceptions without a thought, and yet I feel better for it. How?”

“Oh, well it's probably that you spend too much time surrounded by dwarves,” said Bilbo. He could feel Thorin’s compliment rushing to his head but pushed past it. “Don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful fellows, but it can get a bit stuffy in there with all of you having the same opinion on everything. I’m not particularly wise at all, more like… a bit of fresh air.”

“Indeed,” said Thorin, regarding Bilbo. “Then there is something I must ask of you, something I cannot ask any of my kin.”

“And what is that?” Bilbo said warily. Many times in the past such a request meant, “climb to the top of the tallest tree” or “find a way to break us all out of this dungeon.” Still, he knew whatever it was he would not refuse, fool that he was.

“I need you to keep the Arkenstone away from me,” said Thorin. 

Bilbo blinked and tilted his head to the side, not sure he had heard right. “Excuse me, what? The Arkenstone? You mean the treasure of your people that you’ve walked across half of Middle Earth to reclaim? _That_ Arkenstone?”

“Yes,” Thorin said, without any further elaboration.

“Oh… all right, umm, and am I to get any explanation as to _why_ you suddenly want nothing to do with it? For months its been all any of you will talk about!”

“It's not so sudden, but I would thank you to keep what I am about to tell you in confidence.” Thorin took a deep breath. “I saw the madness of the Arkenstone descend on my grandfather. He nearly died protecting it, he fought wars and turned down alliances over it, and he never ceased speaking of it after we fled. Though our home was lost, it was the jewel that consumed his thoughts. I know it is unreasonable to think so, but I cannot help but blame the Arkenstone for our downfall.”

“But then why must I keep it from you?” Bilbo said. “You seem to have a firm enough grasp of the danger, why would you have any trouble resisting it?” 

“Because I do not know if I will have the strength once it is within my grasp.” Thorin looked suddenly fierce. “I will not risk the lives of my people for a piece of cold stone. But it is our curse that we will desire such things, go mad for them. When I was young I could feel it calling from my grandfather’s throne, like a fell voice demanding more gold, more riches. And that call followed us until he fell at Azanulbizar. Now...” He turned to Bilbo. “I do not know if I can resist it, and if I cannot then no member of the company can. Except for you.”

“Because I am not a dwarf,” Bilbo finished.

Thorin nodded. “Exactly. But for your sake, as well as mine, you must not tell anyone I have given you this duty. They will not understand. They may even try to drive you away as a traitor. That is, if you accept.”

“And what would you have me do with it, even if I do find it first or manage to steal it?” said Bilbo sarcastically. And he would have to find it first, for it would be too well guarded for him to steal from his own companions, even with a ring of invisibility!

“Hide it, trade it, or give it away, I care not. As long as it serves my people or our cause,” said Thorin. Bilbo gaped openly, searching Thorin’s face for any sign of jest but found none. “I am serious. If the worst happens, then none of us will be able to do this. I would rather see it thrown down the deepest mineshaft than have it stand between my people and their home.” 

“This…is a tall order, Thorin,” said Bilbo, feeling a bit faint. For a moment he thought to refuse, but as in many things when it came to the company he thought better of it, though he would later regret it. But any argument he might have made in that moment died on his tongue as his gaze met Thorin’s, for there Bilbo saw naked fear. Fear of himself, fear for his people. Such fear in Thorin's eyes was not a new sight for Bilbo on an adventure so riddled with dangers, but that only meant that he knew it when he saw it.

Wordlessly, Bilbo placed his hand over Thorin’s. Thorin's fingers were cool from the evening, but smooth and strong like polished stone. “I will do it,” said Bilbo. “Whatever you need.” Thorin’s shoulders relaxed, as if a great weight had been removed, and Bilbo glanced down in surprise as Thorin’s fingers closed back around his own.

“Thank you,” Thor said simply.

“Of course. Though, uh, I would greatly appreciate it if you could keep the physical harm to a minimum. Also any attempts on my life would be rather unappreciated.”

Bilbo meant it as a joke, but something inside him went cold when Thorin did not smile. “If I ever threaten you with harm then you will know that I am truly lost.”

“Well, then let us hope it never comes to that,” Bilbo said lightly. The party went on behind them, and Bilbo’s headache had been replaced with a whirlwind of new worries. But Thorin’s hand was growing warm in his, and perhaps the new burdens on his shoulders were not so bad if they lightened Thorin's. Comfort now gained, he and Thorin sat a bit closer together on the docks, close enough that their shoulders touched, and watched the moon as it rose over the Lonely Mountain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited by the incredibly talented Vulgarweed. Her Good Omens and Lord of the Rings fics are the stuff of legend, go forth and read them!

The merriment of the previous evening came to an abrupt halt for Bilbo when the scratchiness at the back of his throat blossomed into the mother of all colds. It was probably for the best, as brooding over the various miseries and indignities of a stuffy nose and sore throat kept his mind from the more looming problems of challenging, with one hobbit and thirteen dwarves, a dragon that had all but wiped out a civilization.

Though Thorin claimed a “willing heart” and “honor” were all he needed in his companions, in Bilbo’s less charitable moments he could not help but wish there had been a bit more emphasis on “intelligence” as a qualifier. He thought this glumly as he watched Bifur walk by and absently pull a fish from his beard. They had been out of the water for ages, how in the world had the dwarf missed it?

In fact, two weeks had passed while they waited for Durin’s Day. Yet even a stuffy nose could not distract Bilbo from the fact this lot of geniuses probably couldn’t be trusted to scout out the dragon’s lair, and as their burglar possessed a magic ring of invisibility the duty would inevitably fall to him. Thorin seemed to realize this too, though he avoided the topic whenever Bilbo tried to broach it.

“We’ll find another way, you’ll not have to go alone.” Thorin did not look up from the map as he spoke. He had been poring over it for days, hardly leaving his room as he tried to divine the location of the door when compared to the silhouette of the mountain visible from his window.

This might have had something to do with the reception Thorin received whenever he did emerge. The future King Under the Mountain had become a well-known face about town, much to his consternation. Thorin could hardly go down to the tavern to fetch his evening meal without being surrounded by children, or even their parents pestering him for his plans, how was he going to slay the dragon, had he slain many dragons before? Would he like to try the fish soup, or the fish sauce, or the fish pastries (fish was something of a staple in Lake-town)? And once he had reclaimed Erebor, would he be needing an official fishmonger?

Thorin all but fled back to the room, and Bilbo suspected he had huddled on the other side of the door, breathing heavily and casting wild-eyed looks over his shoulders as he tried to reclaim some kingly decorum.

Not that Bilbo was exempt from their curiosity. The people of Lake-town had never heard of or seen a hobbit before. The adults assumed he was some kind of beardless dwarf, to which Bilbo had to bite his tongue not to point out the _obvious differences_ in anatomy, and he was not defective thank-you-very-much, hobbit hair was _supposed_ to grow on the feet and not the face. The children seemed to think he was some sort of baby dwarf, even after much patient explaining. Eventually he gave up and accepted their friendship, even if it did come with an insistence that he spend time with his “fellow” children.

He had just managed to escape said children for the afternoon, and now sat on the bench outside the tavern, glorying in his first pipe since his nose cleared, when the warmth of the sun was suddenly cut off. He was half expecting to see Gandalf when he opened his eyes, but instead there was Thorin glowering down at him. Well, perhaps not glowering _at_ him so much as trying to keep his head down and be as unobtrusive as possible when one is the tallest dwarf in town.

“It’s time. We leave tomorrow,” Thorin growled under his breath.

Bilbo set aside his pipe and looked back at Thorin, arching an eyebrow. “Hold on, we still have a week before Durin’s Day. What’s the rush?”

“We should give ourselves time to get there…”

“Which should only take a half day, according to Bard.”

“And prepare ourselves for every eventuality…”

“All right, that’s still six days.”

“We will need to set up a proper camp!” Thorin shot back, looking harried.

“A proper…? Oh, I see!” Bilbo smirked as it all fell into place. Thorin was not growling, he was muttering so as not to be heard! Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves, as Gandalf would say, and Bilbo had long since begun to agree with him. “You just don’t want to spend any more time in Lake-town!" 

Thorin’s lips drew into a thin line and his nostrils flared as if to say, _yes obviously but could you say it a bit louder, thank you?_ Not that that was a very Thorin-like way of putting it, Bilbo had to admit, but the look was clear enough to overcome any language barrier.

Bilbo cupped his pipe and leaned over it conspiratorially. “Thorin, if you’re going to be King Under the Mountain you’ll to have to learn to get along with these people. Talk to them, listen to their stories, have a drink with them instead of hiding away with your map. I know you’ve spent the last year with dwarves… and one hobbit, and the few odd elves but those were extenuating circumstances…my point is Erebor will be a great kingdom again and you will have to deal with all sorts!” He could not tell if his speech was having any effect but Thorin, who had been staring at him intently, suddenly grabbed Bilbo by the shoulder and pushed the hobbit before him into the inn.

Bilbo squawked in protest as they entered the darkened common room, but had no time to voice his indignation as he was guided back to Thorin’s room. The door slammed shut behind them. Thorin released him, and Bilbo rubbed at his shoulder, giving Thorin a reproachful look. Thorin meanwhile stalked to the other side of the room and settled himself into the rickety wooden chair. It would have been too tall for one such as Ori, but Thorin was of a height with most of the shorter Men and occupied the chair as if it were indeed a throne. He leaned against the armrest with his knuckles placed against his forehead, staring out the window to the mountain. After a moment’s silence he seemed to realize that Bilbo was still glaring at him, pride affronted. Thorin nodded to the bed, bidding Bilbo to sit, as there was no other place for him to do so besides the floor.

Bilbo sat facing Thorin, wondering if he was to be scolded like a child by the company’s leader, as he had been so many times at the beginning of the quest. Well, he’d be having none of it this time. There were certain privileges one gains from saving the quest and all its members from spiders, elf prisons, and the forest of Mirkwood itself. He’d like to think that among those rights was the ability to shout back in Thorin Oakenshield’s face if it came to it.

Thorin must have noted the scowl on Bilbo’s face for he straightened and held up a mollifying hand. “Peace. I did not come here to argue with you, Bilbo.” He settled forward in his chair, clasping his hands and looking over them at Bilbo. Once Bilbo might have seen it as a threatening gesture, being appraised like that by such a fearsome warrior. But there was no aggression in Thorin’s stance, rather he seemed distant and maybe a little…Bilbo blinked. Maybe a little nervous? If so he nevertheless kept his deep voice steady, despite some hesitation as he began. 

“You’re right. If the quest is successful then the people of Lake-town will be my second concern after the other dwarves. We will need to establish a trading hub with the outside world, and a share of the treasure of Erebor will have to be spent here to help them rebuild. My kin will not like it, but they will see reason eventually, for we are not farmers or fishermen. We lack the resources to even feed ourselves if we cannot trade our crafts for food.” His voice had strengthened as he discussed the needs of his people, but faltered again as he looked up at Bilbo. “I have been thinking on our conversation the first night and… I have realized there is one more favor I must ask of you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “I’ve already told you, Thorin, I know I’ll have to scout out Smaug’s den by myself and it’s _fine_. I’ll not have Fili and Kili or, heaven forbid, _Ori_ risking themselves to come down with me, and they are the only ones I trust to be silent.”

“No! That is not what I’m asking… Also, no you will _not_ go alone, but we will come back to that… “

“Wait, there’s something _else_? Thorin, I think I’ve far exceeded the letter of my contract, don’t you?” said Bilbo.

“Yes, you’ve done more than any of us could have possibly imagined. We are deeply in your debt. That’s why it is so difficult to ask…” said Thorin.

“For another favor? I’ll remind you that at no point have I asked for a greater share of the treasure, Thorin, because frankly it’s an absurd amount anyway, really quite in excess of anything reasonable. But I should think I’ve earned the right to bow out of at least one hare-brained scheme!” 

“Bilbo…”

“No, I’ll not add another. For goodness sake, you’ve just short of asked me to risk my life if that Arkenstone begins to drive you mad! And I’m happy to do it, I really am…” said Bilbo.

“I understand, which is why…” began Thorin.

“… And I would give more if I had to. I’d even give my life to protect all of you. I would. But no more schemes, no more plans. We set out to reclaim Erebor. That was the contract. Then I’ll be out of your life before you know it and - ”

“ _Confound it_ with the contract, I’m asking you to _stay_!” Thorin roared.

The room went silent.

Thorin had jumped from his chair and was red in the face from shouting. It must have been from the shouting, because it certainly couldn’t be … surely he wasn’t… _blushing_?

“Stay?” Bilbo repeated.

“It would of course be your decision. As you have said, we have no right to ask for any more than what you are willing to give,” said Thorin. He had begun to pace the room, looking out the window, or to the floor, anywhere but at Bilbo, who sat gaping on the edge of the bed. “But a share of the profits was only to account for a small portion of the reward. The rest was a place of honor in the kingdom of Erebor once it is renewed, and that reward is worth more than any price in gold or gems.”

“I’m not sure all your cousins would agree with that,” Bilbo said. He could only imagine telling Bofur or Nori that the larger share of their reward would be in insubstantial honors rather than gold, and would have laughed at the image of their affronted disbelief if he were not still reeling from Thorin’s offer.

Thorin’s jaw clenched, as if he realizing there was more he needed to say, but was set on physically biting it back rather than expressing himself further. Finally he gave in. “There is more to it than that. What you said when we sat on the docks… and just now your counsel that I take more interest in the people of Lake-town…”

“Well, that was…I mean, it really wasn’t my place…”

“It was all true,” said Thorin, rounding on him. “And I will need such counsel when I rule Erebor. There is no one outside my own kin whom I trust more, and even they lack your experience with the other races.” 

“Wha –me? You’re asking me, Bilbo Baggins, to be your _advisor_? I’d barely been out my front door before you lot showed up!”

“You think too little of yourself,” said Thorin. His expression had grown sour. “I take it you refuse?”

“Yes…no, wait a minute, I never said that.” But hadn’t he? He wasn’t going to stay in Erebor after the quest; he had to go home to Bag End! Going on an adventure was bad enough, but running away to live with the dwarves in some distant kingdom? Any claims of respectability would be well and truly lost. “No, its preposterous, I can’t possibly stay here. This? This is temporary, this is an aberration. Once you have your home back, I’ll…go back to mine…”

Thorin had gone very still while Bilbo spoke. His expression was closed, all nervousness or flustered explanation locked up as if behind heavy doors. Once again he was Thorin Oakenshield, leader of the company, and Bilbo was merely the burglar. “Understood. When the quest is over we will part ways, as originally agreed.” 

“Yes. Of course.” Bilbo hopped down from the bed to stand before Thorin. Even if Thorin had other things to discuss, Bilbo wasn’t sure he was ready to do so at the moment. The room had begun to feel small. He needed space to breathe, to think. About what he couldn’t quite admit to himself. His mind was made up after all, and yet he felt off-balance, as if something inside him had been put together wrong and the whole world was now off-kilter. “It’s a very generous offer, Thorin. But you know it's impossible.”

Thorin nodded. Bilbo extended his hand to shake Thorin’s; this was a business transaction after all, nothing more. Thorin glanced at his extended hand but did not offer his own. After a moment Bilbo retracted it, and self-consciously straightened his waistcoat. “Well, I’d best be off. I don’t suppose there was anything else you wanted to discuss?” Not that he would stay even if there was, but Bilbo’s mind was firmly set in the give-and-take of pleasantries, in particular pleasantries following very unpleasant news. He was fairly sure he had burnt some bridge with Thorin just now, which was quite unfair really because he’d not been given any warning before being asked to essentially uproot his life for this man. Again. After a moment of awkward silence, Bilbo gave up and crossed to the door.

“The offer remains open. There will always be a place for you in Erebor.” Thorin spoke as if the words were wrenched out of him against his will. Bilbo would have thought it almost a plea, but Thorin Oakenshield did not beg, not even when he was dragged in chains before the Elvenking. No, most likely it was affronted pride, and Bilbo had somehow managed yet again to tread on dwarven custom.

Bilbo sighed internally and resigned himself to spending the rest of his time with the company right back where he started with Thorin, and tried not to pay attention to the twisting in his heart at the thought. “And you, Thorin. At Bag End, I mean. Tea is at four, though I suppose once you are king you will not have time for such things. Good day.” He reached to close the door behind him, noting with his final glance how Thorin’s lips had parted at his words. How foolish that for a moment Bilbo wondered if it was to call him back.

He shut the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite lines in this chapter was adapted from an observation by the brilliant Magicgenetek (plotdesigner on Tumblr), and all credit goes to her. Go read her Adventure Time fics, for they are made of awesome. I will reveal which line it was in the end notes. 
> 
> I also want to apologize for the delay. I seem to be falling more into the every-other-day posting schedule than the daily one I had hoped for. In my defense, it has more to do with the chapter length than a lack of writing, I'm already cutting them off at the first available scene change that makes sense in order to keep to a better schedule. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this addition to "Nightmares"!

The latch clicked behind Bilbo as he closed the door to Thorin’s room. On the other side he heard the rustle of paper, and could clearly see in his mind’s eye Thorin taking out the map and returning to his study. Bilbo's already heavy heart gave another twist when realizing that whatever had passed between them just now was not worth more than a few second's thought. 

“And why should it?” he chided himself as he turned away, shaking his head at his own foolishness. He left the inn and headed straight for the docks, sparing hardly a glance to a glorious sunset over the Lonely Mountain except when it occurred to him that it would have been pleasant to watch over a pipe, and he had left his still smoking in Thorin’s room. This only worsened his mood and he stalked towards the main pier that led to the edge of the lake. He needed to feel grass under his feet and wipe the memory of a pleasant evening spent watching the moon from his mind before it drove him mad. On second thought, he _would_ be glad to leave this place in the morning.

He did not notice he was being watched from one of the windows of the inn. Perhaps it would have cheered him to know there was another in as foul a temper as he.

* * *

The evening’s meal did nothing for Bilbo’s mood, for when he came to the common room he saw Thorin seated in the corner with Fili and Kili, away from the rest of the company that clustered around the large central table. Bilbo harrumphed. This was getting ridiculous. No matter their differences in the past there had been no reason to split the company over it. Even the rest of the dwarves seemed confused by this change of behavior, and Fili and Kili looked particularly unhappy to be thus singled out. Bilbo studiously ignored Thorin as he passed their table to fetch his meal, a bowl of a thick fish stew, from the innkeeper. He was wondering if he should choose a table away from the main company as well when Balin, who was sitting at the far end of the communal table, caught his eye. He nodded to the empty space beside him on the long bench, which Bilbo took.

“I’m not sure what you said to him earlier, Bilbo, but Thorin’s been in a right state all night,” Balin muttered, glancing over at the three heirs of Durin. Fili and Kili had turned back to face Thorin and were hunched over like scolded puppies, staring into their bowls as Thorin spoke to them in what Bilbo could only assume was Khuzdûl, since he could not pick out any of the words. “He’s been growling like a bear with a bee up its arse. Care to tell me what happened?”

Bilbo snorted and took a rather aggressive bite of his meal as he glowered. “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me, Balin? Is it customary for a dwarven royalty to make impossible demands with no notice whatsoever, then throw a fit when refused?”

“It wouldn’t be entirely unheard of…” said Balin cautiously. The older dwarf glanced over his shoulder at Thorin. “But why don’t you tell me a bit more of what happened?” Balin pulled his stew bowl over to the side to face Bilbo, making a tiny pocket of privacy for them. Not that it would have mattered. Dwalin and Ori sat behind them and did not appear to even notice their conversation, for Dwalin was giving the gleeful account of a rather gruesome orc disemboweling at some unpronounceable dwarven battle site to a wide-eyed Ori. 

Bilbo ignored them and leaned in to recount the conversation with Thorin as best he could from memory, his irritation spiking as he did so. “And _then_ I say that I can’t. And why not? It would simply be impossible for me to uproot from Bag End just to babysit a bunch of blockheaded dwarves. I’ve already had quite enough of that, thank you. If you can’t find a way to keep yourselves out of trouble then there’s not much _I_ can do as an advisor!” Bilbo barked a laugh that held more bitterness than he planned to reveal. “He could have at least given a few minutes preparation or, or…anything! And would it have killed him to put a single kind note in there? Something besides ‘Bilbo, you’re somewhat useful and we’d like to keep you around to prevent the Men from going to war with us when we don’t invite them to dinner’, not that I would blame them if they did. No, it was all business. Well I’ve had quite enough of business, I think I’d rather spend every tea time for the rest of my life with the Sackville-Baggineses than another second around one who can’t even spare a few words of appreciation while he makes demands.” Bilbo was now fuming and wielding his spoon as if it were Sting to punctuate every word.

Balin’s eyes went wide at the tirade, his gaze flicking back and forth between Bilbo and Thorin. “Laddie…let me see if I understand this aright. Did Thorin ask you to serve as his advisor? Were those his exact words?”

“Well, the word he used was “counsel” and there was something about his family in there, that he trusted no one else but his closest kin, much help they would be when Thranduil comes to call.” Though Bilbo had to admit the thought of being included amongst Thorin’s closest family was flattering and… He shook his head to close off that avenue of thought. Dwarves and hobbits had entirely different customs in these matters; he was getting his hopes up over a bit of phrasing that was probably lost in translation anyway.

But Balin had begun to chuckle, and by the time Bilbo glanced up at him in askance he was red-faced with laughter, banging his fist on the table and setting all the plates rattling. “Balin, what…?” Bilbo began when he was suddenly wrapped in a tight embrace as Balin fell crying with laughter on his shoulder.

“Oh, you poor idiots! Thank goodness you went and said something. Oh dear, oh dearie me… Well.” Balin wiped a tear out of the corner of his eyes, sobering. “I still cannot promise a happy ending, but I think I can at least smooth your ruffled feathers, Master Baggins.” 

 “So I take it I’m…missing something?” said Bilbo, his indignation melting into confusion.

“Oh yes, a great deal,” said Balin. Thorin, Fili and Kili were peering at them from their corner, but upon being noticed Thorin slammed his fist against the table, and Fili and Kili ducked their heads nervously as they turned back. Another string of Khuzdûl emerged from Thorin, but it was not as serious in tone for he too seemed uncertain and distracted by the conversation between Balin and Bilbo.

“Thorin has always been a proud one, but he is also very traditionally-minded, even by our reckoning. Unfortunately as you may have noticed, it tends to get him in trouble with the other races. You see Thorin tends to be very strict in his observation of the old ways. Choosing a fourteenth member to ward off the unlucky number, for example. Only in our oldest traditions would such a thing matter, but Thorin left nothing to chance when setting out to reclaim Erebor, for it is the goal of his heart and all his works. Now, you may see where I’m going with this.” Bilbo nodded, for he had the horrible sinking feeling the fault lay heavily on his side. “Tell me, Bilbo, when a couple enters into a union in your homeland what comes first, the house or the betrothal?” said Balin.

Bilbo blinked at the apparent non sequitur. “Why the betrothal, of course. All that stuff with a house or farm comes after, usually it’s a gift from one side of the family or another.”

“Ah, well there you’ll begin to see the confusion. For with us it is business that comes first, or the practical side of things, as we like to see it. A dwarf must be able to first show his companion that he has made a place for them in his life equal to their status, and he will have all of this arranged far in advance of anything so forward and insubstantial as a confession. In matters like these we prefer to let actions speak rather than words, if you take my meaning.”

“Oh no…” Bilbo said, placing the palm of his hand against his forehead and scrubbing it down over his mouth.

Balin leaned forward to illustrate his next point with his hands, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he recognized Bilbo’s dawning realization. “Now, a dwarf would not make such an offer if he wasn’t fairly certain it would be accepted. There are many small signs that show affection, but I would venture that taking a selfless interest in the regaining of his kingdom would be high on the list, as would saving his life on multiple occasions.” Balin was now grinning openly into his beard. 

“Well that’s preposterous, by that logic I’ve shown interest in the entire company!” exclaimed Bilbo. 

“Yes…we’ve been meaning to talk to you about that…” The blood drained from Bilbo’s face and he only stopped himself from fleeing the room at Balin’s chuckle. “Only joking. But I hope you know that young dwarves would be sighing to themselves for generations over such a tale. Perhaps you have not heard many dwarven love ballads, but there are few finer things than a good armor-ripper about royalty and their closest companions.”

“Balin…are you saying that had I agreed I’d be the subject of dwarven love songs?” said Bilbo, not entirely sure he could believe what he was hearing.

“Probably for the next few centuries, actually. Thorin already has many songs written about him, but they have lacked a certain something. The addition of the loyal hobbit that risked his life to aid in the retaking of Erebor could well hurtle him into legend. But no, it’s not a foregone conclusion. Not all such invitations lead to so close a bond, but it is not unheard of for they are rarely given. Thorin told the truth when he said it is only his closest kin he would trust with such a position.”

“But you advise him all the time, and you are…”

“His second cousin, actually, as is Dwalin of course. All members of the company can trace their line back to that of Durin through some means, or have some other tie of loyalty that is just as good and goes back generations. To invite one who is not only from outside your kin, but outside your people? As I said, Thorin is very traditional, and he did everything properly, but I don’t think he took in to account the differences. You see what he was probably trying to get at was a proposal of sorts, if you catch my meaning. Still the very earliest stages, so there’d be time to know one another better. But he’d made a place in his life for you. ”

“But…I’m a hobbit!” Bilbo protested.

Balin gave Bilbo a look of utter incredulity. “And? Laddie, you’ve nearly _died_ for him a dozen times over, and all in the service of reclaiming his kingdom. Only family or someone extremely reckless and stupid would do that, and you are none of those. As far as other dwarves would be concerned, it wouldn’t matter if you were a goblin. Or worse, an elf!”

Bilbo opened his mouth, paused, and opened it again. “Right. Excuse me,” he said, pushing himself up from the bench. Balin settled back to his own (now cold) meal with a satisfied smirk, which only grew wider as he overheard what came next.

Bilbo marched over to the table where the heirs of Durin now sat and planted himself in front of them, hands on his hips. Kili gave him a welcoming grin, but it was quickly doused by a glare from Thorin.

“Is there something we can help you with, Master Baggins?” Thorin growled.

“If you don’t want to have a scene in front of the company, I suggest you come with me right now, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain,” said Bilbo. The two younger heirs blinked and exchanged a look at the use of Thorin’s full title and name. 

“And if I do not?” said Thorin, settling back into the bench and crossing his arms.

“Then I will drag you by the beard in front of all your kin, and we will be in the same place only I with a fistful of hair,” said Bilbo.

Thorin appraised him, but still did not move. 

“Come on,” said Bilbo, grabbing Thorin by the shoulder instead, just as Thorin had grabbed him earlier that day. He attempted to pull Thorin from the bench, but knew before he started that it would be futile if Thorin resisted, which he did. Bilbo had hoped to keep this part private, but there was no helping it.

It was time to fight dirty.

“Are you really going to ignore the first bit of advice given to you by your trusted councilor?” Bilbo said. 

That did it. Thorin’s eyes widened, and Bilbo felt all the resistance drain from him. He probably could have knocked the dwarf prince over with a feather in that moment, and Thorin made no further struggle as Bilbo pulled him from the bench. He noted Fili and Kili’s grateful look as they were finally able to dig into their meal without being scolded.

Bilbo all but dragged Thorin back to the room where the whole mess had started that afternoon, and this time it was he who slammed the door. He was already having a bad day and frankly he’d had it up to _here_ with certain dwarves and their damned customs. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was already feeling a bit plucky and aggressive from having successfully dragged a much stronger warrior across the room with only the strategic application of certain threats. He did not release Thorin as they entered, but turned on his heels and shoved the dwarf up against the door with his forearm. Thorin’s coat was clenched in his fist, and Bilbo pinned him in place with his elbow, setting their faces just inches from one another (most of those inches made up by height difference). Bilbo was breathing heavily from the adrenaline and the earlier irritation now turned to something painfully sharp and hopeful in his chest.

“You are going to answer my questions quickly and to the best of your ability, with none of your dwarven tight-lippedness or so help me I will make you wish I’d left you in that dungeon.” Thorin recoiled, looking about as startled as a bear that had been attacked by a rabbit. “First, you will tell me why you asked me to stay in Erebor.”

At that, Thorin’s expression locked up tight as a steel trap, but Bilbo was prepared to shake the truth out of him if necessary and he gave a quick taste of that, grabbing Thorin by the lapels and pulling himself up on his toes. “I have nearly been stabbed, beaten, _eaten_ , torn limb from limb, strangled, crushed, and drowned for the cause of reclaiming your home, so I can say with some authority that you do not scare me, Thorin Oakenshield.” He gave another shake, pitiful as it was (Thorin barely moved) and tried again. “Then tell me this, was Balin right in saying there is something about being an advisor that I did not understand?”

“What is there to tell?” Thorin finally said, bitterly. “It is a rare honor, almost never given to any outside of family and…intended family. I could not have been any more clear.”

“Sometimes I advise the wine list at the Green Dragon,” said Bilbo sarcastically. “Or the flower arrangements at the Took family reunion. And do you know what they call me when I do that? An _advisor_. It means I get an extra round of applause during the toasts, which no one cares for because they’re all waiting to eat, and a special seat at the head of the table. That is it. Is that what you wanted of me? One more petty government official that’s trotted out whenever the elves come to visit and then pushed away once the real business of Erebor resumes?” 

Thorin looked aghast at this, as if Bilbo had just suggested using the finest bed linens to scrub the floors. “Only my closest kin, the companions of my heart, or my consort would ever stand by my side and give me council. How else would I know I could trust them?”

“I don’t know, we generally just _trust_ people in the Shire. And I certainly wouldn’t pick my closest relatives to advise me on anything, since it would probably end with me drowned in a lake and them living at Bag End. Do you see where I'm going with this?” Thorin nodded, still looking rather pale and horrified. “So, would you like to take another stab at your invitation, or shall I walk out of here assuming I understood it all correctly this afternoon? If so, I will forget the insult and you will forget that I just manhandled you against a door.” The last came out with something of a nervous titter as he realized how close they were standing. The rage that had buoyed him until now was quickly deflating in the face of Thorin’s panic. He released his arm and stepped away to give Thorin a bit of breathing space, and Thorin leaned against the door. Honestly, Bilbo was beginning to worry a bit for his health, for the dwarf looked positively ill over the whole thing. 

“You believed I wanted you as some petty… _clerk_?” Thorin choked.

“Yes, and that you expected me to uproot all my things from Bag End to do so. I’ll remind you that I have responsibilities there as Master of Bag End _and_ as a confirmed bachelor. Responsibilities can only be waived if…” Bilbo paused, realizing he was about to say much more than he had really intended to. Perhaps he too was guilty of under-sharing when it came to certain cultural aspects. “If I, for example, took up with another bachelor from a different village. But you see, we hobbits tend to make our vows _before_ we move in together.”

Thorin looked pained. “I am already further outside the bounds of propriety than I ever would have been were circumstances different. You can’t ask me to –”

“To give a straight answer? I assure you, Thorin, I can and will. Though if speaking openly is against some obscure ritual of dwarven propriety-”

“That is not what I meant,” Thorin all but snarled and stalked past Bilbo, stopping in the middle of the room. He placed a hand to the bridge of his nose, then let it fall before turning back. Bilbo wondered what he had done to anger Thorin again, but that he could not find it within him to care at the moment. “I am not entirely as ignorant as you seem to think, I know the ways of Men are different in these matters, and so I suspect the way of Hobbits.  But what I have done is already far outside tradition, and against that I can only plead circumstances.”

It was then Bilbo realized that it was not anger that tightened Thorin’s jaw, but shame, and it darkened his eyes too as he turned back to Bilbo. “I should have waited until we reclaimed Erebor, for as it is I offer you only a fantasy. But I… was afraid. I feared if I waited too long you would not be there for me to ask, and my chance would be lost. It made me hasty, and in that I’ve already offered you less than you deserve.”

“I was hardly going to steal away like a thief in the night the minute you took the throne.” Bilbo protested. Yet Thorin’s expression showed he had expected just that, and had from the minute Bilbo followed them out the door. Bilbo sighed and tried again. “Just tell me _what_ you are offering, Thorin,” Bilbo said more gently. “I can’t be expected to give up my life just so you can show your gratitude.”

“Then there is no more to it,” said Thorin. He drew himself straight, his expression falling back into its usual stoicism, but it was thin brittle, a mask placed over a mortal wound. “You have responsibilities to your people and I… I have mine.”

It was all Bilbo could do to keep from throwing up his hands in frustration. “Not everything has to be so… so damned dramatic, you stubborn dwarf! Here.” Bilbo grabbed Thorin’s hand, who offered no resistance, and clenched it in his own. “Just say it plainly. If there was no Bag End, and no Erebor, and nothing in the whole wide world except the two of us here, in this room, what would you have of me?”

Thorin froze, his face going pale again with that familiar, far-away look. After a moment he shook his head and said slowly, “I cannot even think in such terms.” At the flash of irritation on Bilbo's face he sighed, then took Bilbo's other hand gently in his. “I cannot _allow_ myself to think in such terms. Not when there is so much left to be done. I am sorry.”

Bilbo searched Thorin's face, but all his annoyance drained away at the look in Thorin's eyes. Well, it was progress. At least Thorin had admitted there was _something_ there. But Bilbo was not one to beat his head against a rock, and at this point it seemed pulling dragon’s teeth would be easier than getting any sort of clear admission out of him. Bilbo sighed and prepared to pull his hand away. “I understand,” he said. Perhaps he could ask Balin if he had any more bright ideas. “Another time then.” Bilbo slipped his hand free, and for the second time that day he found himself at the door, feeling as if he had lost more than he gained. He glanced back and saw Thorin standing there with such a look of defeat that it nearly broke his heart anew. “Someday you will have to learn to care for yourself as well as you do your people, Thorin," Bilbo said. "After all this I think you will have earned it and I…I would very much like to help you in that.”

Bilbo turned back to the door, his heart now somewhere around the level of his feet, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning him. He knew his misery must show in his face, for Thorin’s blue eyes were searching his with a look of unutterable sadness. 

All of which was blown from Bilbo’s mind when Thorin leaned in and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magicgenetek inspired Balin's line about how it wouldn't matter if Bilbo were a goblin, the dwarves would still swoon over their relationship. All credit goes to her remarkable wit.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The promised smut chapter. In which we raise the rating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deeply apologize for the delay, but in my defense I very rarely write explicit scenes for the very reason that they take twice as much time. This one in particular was heavily influenced by thorinsexenshield's work, so if you like what you see I highly recommend going there for more!

Thorin’s lips were dry and warm and his breath played against Bilbo’s mouth just before he captured it. His beard was shortly clipped and did not provide nearly the obstruction Bilbo had imagined, when he had imagined it, which was more often than any respectable hobbit would ever admit. Yet his imagination, based on the contact they had known through so many casual touches and from crouching in the dark together in the elven dungeon, uncertain they would ever again see the light, had not prepared him for this. Perhaps it was the heat that changed it, turning the scent of ash and earth and steel to smoke and molten metal and licking flames. He might have been reminded that dwarves were creatures of fire as much as earth, if Thorin had not brushed his teeth against Bilbo’s bottom lip and driven all such nonsense from his head.

Bilbo’s shoulders bumped the door, not that he would have found it in himself to care or notice had Thorin’s hand not come up beside Bilbo’s head as Thorin braced himself and begun _to push himself away_.

Oh no, we are _not_ having any more of that, was Bilbo’s slightly disjointed thought as he grabbed Thorin’s collar and dragged him down so they both thudded against the door. It shuddered on its hinges, but Bilbo was already entwining his arms around Thorin’s neck, quite prepared to remain hanging there if Thorin stood or tried again to pull away.

Bilbo had been able to tell from first gentle brush of Thorin’s lips that he had meant it to be a chaste affair, filled with enough sweet sorrow and regret as to make even elves weep. Perhaps he had not even expected Bilbo to respond, but when he had _,_ a great deal changed. In the press of teeth and lips Bilbo could _feel_ , as if they were one person, that iron self-control give a hairsbreadth, first in surprise, then with passion. Bilbo felt the first brush of heat as if through a crack in a door that led to an inferno.

The Tookish side of him was quite eager to provide kindling for the blaze, with the Baggins side not far behind. For there was still some hesitation in Thorin, as if he were bound by the chains of his own will, and Bilbo wanted nothing more than to see them rent. He heard Thorin’s sharp intake of breath as he nibbled his lips, then took the opportunity of Thorin’s parted lips to dart his tongue against them. He was rewarded by a moan that seemed torn from the depths of Thorin’s soul, and thus emboldened Bilbo teased him further with his tongue, circling his lips and pushing himself closer. The door pressed hard and uneven against his back, not that it mattered for it meant Thorin was no longer pulling away. Bilbo’s vague thoughts turned to how much better Thorin’s coat would look on the floor. The bed was only a few feet away, and if he could just somehow maneuver a little bit…

His plans were dashed when Thorin broke the kiss and gently but inexorably untangled Bilbo’s arm, placing his hands on Bilbo’s shoulder’s to put space between them. Like a fire damped, the heat still radiated but it was once again under that damnable control. “I’m sorry. I have only made it worse.”

“Worse? How have you…?” Bilbo stopped and gaped. For as dense and hung up on their honor as he now knew dwarves could be, Bilbo could not have predicted this level of…of… “Are you completely daft? What do you think I’ve been asking this whole time?”

“You made yourself clear enough,” Thorin said bitterly.              

“Apparently not. All I’ve been trying to get out of you is whether or not I…we… _this_ ,” he gestured vaguely around them. “Could happen! I’m not going to run off from my home again just for some brotherly companionship, not that you all aren’t lovely but I’m quite sure I’d go mad within the year.” He did not know whether to sigh or scream in the face of Thorin’s ongoing incomprehension, but nonetheless he tried again. “I’ll advise if I have to Thorin, I’ll probably end up doing so whether you want me to or not. But I’m not staying for Erebor, or the other dwarves, or even for your kin, I’m staying for _you_! And I’ve been tying myself into knots here because you wouldn’t give me a _damned_ straight answer whether _you_ wanted me to stay for…. For me,” he trailed off, for he realized he was about to utterly humiliate himself either by bursting into some terrible poetry or by bursting into tears, and he wasn’t sure he could survive either. “ _Hrrm_. So forgive me if I took _that_ to be the answer.” 

After all the back and forth, brooding, and misunderstandings it was glorious to see understanding dawn on Thorin’s face. “You accept?”

“Well, we’d still have to work out the whats and wherefores, the arrangements will be a nightmare, but…” But who was he was fooling? The words died on Bilbo’s tongue, for Thorin was giving one of those rare smiles that lit his face like the sun breaking through a storm. And really, what was Bilbo supposed to do against that? It was simply unfair, and all his fussy Baggins dignity quite abandoned him along with any claims of eloquence. For Thorin’s unconcealed joy was filling his heart with something sharp and bright and hopeful and…

 _Oh._  

The realization swept through him, taking with it the last of any doubts. Whether tomorrow brought rule or ruin, whether they remained there or went back again, it wouldn’t matter so long as Thorin was by his side. And the feel of it was welling up inside him, overwhelming him like light or the heady rush of fine wine. It was too much to put into words so he did the only thing he could, closing the space between them with a kiss. Yet he could not sustain this one as long as the first, because joy was bubbling up inside him like a mountain spring and he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to Thorin’s broad chest just as the first wave of very undignified, but very hobbit-y giggles overcame him.

They only grew worse when he felt Thorin jerk back in alarm and Bilbo looked up to see renewed confusion on his face. “What is it?” Thorin said, and for the first time he was the one to sound exasperated.

“Nothing…it’s nothing!” Bilbo gasped through his laughter. “Except…what a hopeless pair we make. Moping about like a couple of tweens, I was really no better, and it was all so simple in the end.”

“Surely I wasn’t that bad,” grumbled Thorin, but had the grace to look embarrassed. “And I would not want to put undue pressure on you to leave your home.”

“Hang all that! Dishes, doilies… well it all seems a bit silly now.” He did feel a pang at the thought leaving Bag End, but there was no reason it had to be forever, and once he found a good steward for the place that would be most of his concerns dealt with.“Besides, we’re not done yet. Anything could happen before then...”

He realized his error before the words were even out of his mouth. Thorin’s lips tightened and that far away look to crept back into his eyes even as Bilbo scrambled to correct himself. “What I mean is…we may have months more ahead of us, we’ll have quite enough trouble until then, there’s no need to go borrowing more. Thorin, Thorin!” Bilbo touched Thorin’s face, drawing his eyes back. “You want my counsel? Then learn to take it. Your life will change once you retake Erebor, you will need to think on the present as much as you do now on the future.  And you will drive yourself insane if you continue to see a threat in every unhappy face and refusal in every pause. It doesn’t have to be all at once, but a little at a time you should trying to enjoy moments as they come. You are not Erebor, you're allowed to be your own person.”

“Did Gandalf put you up to this?” Thorin said, looking guarded and skeptical.

“No, just some plain hobbit wisdom, I’m afraid. We enjoy our food, pipes, and lazy Sundays. And we generally pay very little attention to such grand things as concern wizards. I hope you don’t find it too beneath you,” he said, smiling to take any edge from his words.

“Beneath me? Never,” said Thorin. “There is wisdom in what you say but I have trouble imagining such a way of life. And I know there’s something…wrong with that. Even the others can do what you describe. Their minds aren’t like mine, this... cavern that loops back in on itself no matter which way I turn.” He stopped and Bilbo thought he saw a glimpse of who Thorin had been the day Smaug came, young and lost and filled with such impotent rage. “I am not sure I know how to break free of it.”

“Well, we’ll have to do something to fix that,” said Bilbo.

“And I shall value your assistance,” began Thorin, his voice gentle and warm with affection. “When this is all over…”

“Nope, stop right there. We are not putting this off,” Bilbo interrupted. “There’s no time like the present, and I think I have a few ideas.” He was fighting very hard to keep his blush from spreading to the tips of ears but knew a lost cause when he saw one.

“This hardly seems the time for such things. We must leave in the morning, and there will be packing and preparation and… Bilbo, what are you _doing_?”

“Getting you out of this coat,” replied Bilbo, as matter-of-fact as he could be without actually _thinking_ about what he was doing. Comfortable as he was now with Thorin, back at Bag End even considering what he was about to do would have made him faint as surely as the dragon did. He could not help but wonder as he pulled at the sleeves of Thorin's coat whether it had armor sewn into it. Blast, the thing was  _heavy_! He would have to keep that in mind once he began, there'd be a great deal of tension there. Thorin was too shocked to resist and once removed Bilbo folded the coat as best he could and placed it on the seat of the chair.

“But _why_?” Bilbo nearly lost it then, looking up at Thorin’s expression of stunned disbelief.

Instead he forced himself to quell the laughter, stopped and gave a frustrated huff. “Because this will be our last night with a proper bed, or any kind of privacy to speak of for who knows how long . You don't very well want to do this sort of thing in a tent with Fili and Kili next door, do you? Here, this will be much easier if you help. What is this belt of yours, a blacksmith’s puzzle? Take care of that for me while I figure out how to unbind these cauldrons you call boots.” He smirked when Thorin obeyed, for it seemed Thorin's brain had not yet caught up to his actions.

“Bilbo is this…are you…?”

“Giving you a massage of course, what did you think?” Bilbo said and it took all his willpower to keep his tone completely deadpan. He knew it was wicked of him, but it really was the best way to gauge Thorin’s receptiveness to further action. With all the confusion they'd had that day over hobbit and dwarven differences, the last thing Bilbo needed was to offend dwarven propriety over what for a hobbit would be the very obvious next step. Of course there was still the possibility that massage also crossed the line of dwarven propriety, but it seemed far less risky.

He nearly cheered as the panic left Thorin’s eyes to be replaced by disappointment. “I fail to see how that was obvious,” he muttered, but that did not stop him from tugging his surcoat over his head and tossing it over the back of the chair.

“Well we’re all still a bit battered and sore from the barrels, and I thought it might be a good way to take your mind from the quest for a short time.” The explanation came easily, for it held a ring of truth.

Thorin looked skeptical, but nonetheless continued to remove his clothes until he was down to a dark tunic and trousers. It was odd to see his feet bare, for though dwarves were generally tougher than hobbits their feet were rarely exposed to the air and Thorin's looked almost delicate to Bilbo’s eyes. Thorin must have caught him staring for he folded his arms and arched an eyebrow as if to say _enjoying the view_?

To which Bilbo’s brain could only respond _don’t look at his arms, don’t look at his arms_! For the tunic was drawn up to his elbows and left little question that among the strongest of the company, though the lines of Thorin’s muscles were longer and leaner than the other's. Bilbo knew all hope of concealing his blush was lost, he must be apple-cheeked by now if the heat in his face was any indication.

“You…uh,” Bilbo coughed, and a tiny smile tugged the corner of Thorin’s lips as Bilbo tried to recover his composure. “You’ll need to remove the shirt too, then go along and sit on the bed.”

Perhaps he was not as clever as he liked to believe, for Thorin nodded but did not break eye contact as he began to peel off the tunic in measured movements that were far slower than strictly necessary. He pulled it slowly over his head, revealing the hard plains of his stomach and chest one inch at a time. Bilbo heard a squeak and clapped a hand over his mouth as he realized it was his own. He coughed to cover his reaction as Thorin’s face came back into view.

Thorin tossed the shirt over the surcoat and just stood for a moment, watching Bilbo. His expression did not change, but Bilbo would have sworn he saw a glimmer of laughter in Thorin’s eyes before he turned and took a seat on the bed as bidden. Once there he clasped his hands and leaned forward onto his forearms. “Well, Master Baggins, how do hobbits usually proceed in these matters? I am yours to command.”

It was possible Bilbo was outmatched in guile as well as wit, for the lower registers of Thorin’s voice sent a shiver down his spine like a plucked harp string. There was nothing overt in his wording, but then Thorin’s voice could be considered a dangerous weapon all of its own. Bilbo recalled the first night when Thorin had sung in his living room, and wondered in retrospect if he had been doomed from that moment.

Well two could play at that game.

“It’s more what I can do for you,” Bilbo said, and clambered onto the bed. He took a seat on his knees behind Thorin. “Does it hurt anywhere in particular?”

“I’ve recovered well enough since being packed in a barrel, thank you,” Thorin said. Bilbo tutted.

“Fine then, be stubborn. I shall simply find it for myself,” Bilbo said. But first he would need access, for Thorin’s silver-streaked hair fell in a waterfall that covered his shoulders and back. Bilbo drew it into a loose tail, allowing his fingers to “accidentally” trail down Thorin’s spine as he did so, then carefully drew it over Thorin’s shoulder to hang before his chest. Thorin shivered as Bilbo’s fingers brushed his neck.

“And this is supposed to be relaxing?” Thorin said archly.

“Of course,” Bilbo said, trying to sound as prim and proper as he could. “Long day working in the fields or the garden? There’s nothing better. Though it’s usually reserved for close family or intimate friends.” He could not help but to put stress on “intimate” and was rewarded by Thorin's knees shifting. But then Bilbo tried to begin his work and...“Good heavens, Thorin, I know you people have a fondness for stone but there’s nothing to work with here, it’s solid rock!” Bilbo exclaimed as he first tried to dig his fingers into the muscles of Thorin’s shoulders. There was more to it than strength, or even constantly wearing armor or a heavy coat. Thorin was actively tensing, and tracing the muscles of his shoulder and neck it was clear his jaw was clenched as well, and was habitually. “We’re hardly in danger here, are you like this all the time?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Thorin.

“All this, here, and up through your neck. I can only do so much if you’re going to tense like this. Can you try to think of something cheerful for a bit?” said Bilbo.

“Such as?”

“I don't know, what do you ever think about? Gold, very sharp swords? Successfully retaking Erebor?” The last gave an instant reaction, only not the one he had expected. The tension in Thorin’s shoulders became, if possible, even more pronounced. “Fine, what if you think of _not_ retaking Erebor?”

“How is that supposed to help?” Thorin said incredulously, yet even as he spoke some of the tension fled from beneath Bilbo’s fingers. Huh. Now wasn’t that interesting?

“Hmm, clearly claiming Erebor is causing you more stress than the thought of losing it.” Thorin bristled but Bilbo cut in before he could rile himself up. “What I mean is, thinking about reclaiming your home day and night is not a relaxing thought for you. Do you ever stop to consider what will happen if you don’t?”

“I cannot even bear to think on it,” Thorin said. But something peculiar happened then, as more of the tension bled out of him.

“Thorin…” Bilbo murmured. For it occurred to him then that Thorin had once had a father set to inherit before him, and had there not been talk of a brother as well? Frerin? And there was a sister too, Dís, who ruled in his absence. Perhaps Thorin had not expected to rule for many centuries, only to find himself the only hope for his people.

Thorin took a shuddering breath. “Tell me... of what will happen if we fail.” There was a plea in his voice that lacked nothing of dignity, and yet it carried anguish that caught Bilbo’s heart in a vice. Bilbo found the words tumbling out of him before he knew, his fingers traced Thorin’s shoulders and back as he spoke.

“Well, it could be for any reason really. Perhaps Smaug still lives, dormant but impossible to slay. Or he is dead but there’s been a cave-in that will take centuries to clear. Or perhaps a wizard has come and vanished all the gold and treasure and passages away.” Thorin scoffed but Bilbo pressed on. “My point is, there are any number of calamities that may have befallen the mountain since you last saw it, and none of them are your fault.”

Thorin released a breath that took with it a measure of the stiffness in his neck and shoulders. Bilbo dug his fingers in as if kneading bread, listening intently as Thorin whispered, “And then what?”

“We will vanish,” Bilbo said. Thorin’s head had begun to lean forward but it snapped up at Bilbo’s words. “Perhaps the dragon ate you, or you are lost in battle. In any case, songs will be sung of you for centuries, the last King Under the Mountain who fell reclaiming his throne. It will be terribly romantic, the dwarflings will sigh over it for centuries. And there will be no shame in it. We will simply…slip away during the confusion. Oh, we’ll tell those who matter of course, so they can stop by for tea, but they’ll agree that you’ve earned a bit of a rest and should you ever decide to return there will be new tales of Thorin the Deathless.”

“That sounds vaguely sacrilegious,” said Thorin, but there was only humor in his voice.

“Oh it will only get worse if they hear where you’d actually gone. Taking up with a mere hobbit from the Shire? Spending your days reading, going to market, or lazing about in bed?” Bilbo skipped past the last one as if it was no different, but could not stop his grin at the thought. “Think of the scandal. No armor or swords there, I’m afraid, though there’s a forge should you ever miss such work. And did I mention hobbits can be very secretive with the outside world? In particular when it comes to protecting their own. None would know you were there unless you wished them to.”

“I could never do it,” said Thorin. “Not if there was any hope for Erebor.”

“Well maybe there is none,” said Bilbo. “Or after a few decades, Fili or one of your other kin will be ready to take your place. Your home should never feel like a death sentence, Thorin. And this life will always be waiting for you, you need only say the word.”

Bilbo wondered if he had said something wrong, for the breath Thorin took was deep and ragged, and when he spoke there was a tremor in his voice. “Today, when you offered me a place in your home,” he began. “It was the first time I had ever second-guessed myself. I have never known such pain as I knew then, even in the jaws of Azog’s warg. For it seemed with one hand you offered me a vision of what could be, only to take it with the other. You knew the circumstances of my life, knew that I cannot simply abandon it, and yet show for just an instant a dream I cannot accept. You made me question the wisdom of retaking Erebor, something I had never thought possible.”

“Thorin, I…”

“I do not say this to shame you,” Thorin said. “But you should know this vision you present, even if it is no more than a mirage… I would take it, and be content for the rest of my days.”

Bilbo felt the last of tension drain. There was still the stiffness of armor and barrels, the hard muscles of his weapon arm. They would have to do this again, for Bilbo could no longer maintain the pretense, but wrapped his arms about Thorin’s shoulders, pressing body against Thorin's back and his lips to his neck. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of him, thinking only _yes, this is home no matter where I find it_. “Lie back,” Bilbo ordered.

“Is this another hobbit custom?” said Thorin.

“If you like,” said Bilbo, guiding him back lengthwise onto the bed. Bilbo moved to kneel above Thorin, his knees on either side of his hips, bracing himself on his hands, and began dusting kisses along Thorin’s throat. He was rewarded with a soft gasp and began working his way down to his chest. “You can stop me anytime you wish,” he murmured against Thorin’s skin. “Or tell me what you like, either way.” He felt Thorin’s fingers against the bottom of his chin, pulling his gaze up.

“For a start, you seem to have me at something of a disadvantage,” Thorin said, his eyes flicking to indicate his own partially clothed state.

“Oh, right,” said Bilbo, and shucked his coat. Bilbo could feel his blush intensify as he began undoing the buttons of his vest, Thorin tracing each movement with his eyes. But once he was down to his shirtsleeves, he hesitated. “I’m afraid I’m not as much to look at,” he apologized. Whatever dwarf standards were, he doubted they ran to the softness of hobbits.

Thorin pushed himself upright with one hand, Bilbo’s weight not even giving him pause as he straightened Bilbo in his lap so they were face to face. “You know, among my people there are few insults greater than those against another dwarf’s treasure. And I think we’ve had enough misunderstandings for one day, don’t you agree?”

“Have it your way,” Bilbo said with mock-exasperation, hiding his pleased smile behind his shirt as he pulled it up over his head and threw it aside. Thorin’s eyes did change then, darkening with lust. His hand came up to cradle Bilbo’s back and he leaned in, pressing a kiss beneath Bilbo’s jaw that sent a tremor through his body.

Thorin’s hands trailed down his chest, and came around to press against Bilbo's lower back. Bilbo had only a second to squawk in surprise as he was flipped, his back pressed against the mattress, and Thorin suddenly above him. His hair fell around them like a veil. “Thorin!”

“You’ve done enough,” Thorin said, capturing Bilbo’s lips. Thorin braced himself, and his free hand slipped beneath the waist of Bilbo’s trousers. Bilbo gasped against Thorin’s mouth, his eyelids fluttering as Thorin began to stroke the inside of his thigh, working his way upward. He whimpered when the stroking moved on and he felt Thorin's warm hand around him, working the same strong, steady motions. Then Thorin paused him for a moment to whisper, “Though this would be easier if you…”

 _Right, of course, how silly of me_ , is what Bilbo might have said were he capable of speech. He wasn’t sure how he managed to push off his trousers and smallclothes so quickly, but where there’s a will… Yet he had not forgotten his original purpose here, and he was determined to resume it. He tugged at Thorin’s trousers, muttering something incoherent about returning the favor. Thorin obliged, pulling away just long enough strip the last of his clothing and settle back down at Bilbo’s side. The break of contact gave Bilbo the chance he needed to reclaim some of his mental faculties. He blinked to clear his head, and propped himself on his elbow as Thorin lay down beside him, taking a moment to appreciate what he was seeing. As was to be expected with any dwarf, Thorin’s chest was lightly furred, and there was a distinct path lead all the way down to…Bilbo gulped. Well, if he had any doubt his attraction was returned he could put it to rest.

Still, he had only a moment to catch Thorin unawares before he tried to take charge again. Bilbo saw his chance and took it, springing back to straddle Thorin, grabbing his wrists and pinning them lightly to the bed. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten my plan so easily. You,” Bilbo punctuated each work with a kiss down Thorin’s chest, “are going to stop worrying about others for a little while even if I have to knock you out first.” Thorin began to frown but Bilbo slipped lower and brushed his teeth against the nipple. “Don’t test me.”

“As my burglar commands,” said Thorin mockingly. Bilbo darted his tongue against it, eliciting a welcome gasp. He lingered there for a moment, teasing both sides mercilessly with the flat and tip of his tongue, enjoying the sound of Thorin’s breath growing ragged. He glanced up, desire surging through him at the sight of Thorin biting his lower lip, clearly concentrating on holding himself still as Bilbo nipped and sucked his way lower. There was a sharp intake of breath as Bilbo reached Thorin’s hip and felt him tense with anticipation. Bilbo’s own arousal spiked at the sound, and he could not help but grind against Thorin, his fingers scraping the sheets as he tried to bring himself back under control. Bilbo hoped at least he could last long enough to do as he promised first, though it had been a long time for him as well. Thorin clenched the sheets in his hand at the brush of Bilbo’s breath against him, and Bilbo could hear some plea strangled short before Thorin would utter it.

Well, they would see about that.

He took Thorin in his mouth, the flat of his tongue flicking beneath the crown. Thorin turned his face against the pillow, shuddering from head to toe. His back arched, but Bilbo was prepared. His slipped a hand free to idly stroke Thorin’s inner thigh, then brought it up to clench the base as he worked. Bilbo started slow at first, pacing himself, teasing Thorin, for he sensed that he was not one to let go so easily. But he was determined Thorin should have no choice by the end.

He picked up the pace steadily, watching Thorin from beneath his bangs as his chest heaved with each deepening gasp. Thorin remained stubbornly silent, but Bilbo could see his control yielding. Thorin first groan was strangled, as if torn from his very soul, and it sent a shockwave of lust down to the pit of Bilbo’s stomach.

Bilbo looked up as Thorin threaded his fingers through his hair, his head flung back and eyes closed, lips parted, and Bilbo thought this was a sight he would never grow tired of. He took a breath and let his lips slide lower, bracing himself as Thorin gave an involuntary shudder. The muscles of his abdomen tightened, spasmed, and Bilbo shifted his weight so he could caress Thorin’s side, goosebumps rising beneath his fingers as he traced down to Thorin’s pelvis and between his legs, drawing a low growl that made Bilbo’s own breathing deepen at the sound.

Bilbo could feel the pace of Thorin’s need increasing, between the working of his hand and his mouth. Thorin kept his hand loose Bilbo’s hair, but the fingers flexed as if all he wanted to do was bury fingers in Bilbo’s curls. Bilbo took a cue from the motion of his fingers as they brushed his scalp and matched his speed to it, drawing another moan. Bilbo changed his angle slightly, taking as much as he could comfortably and the sharp increase in Thorin’s gasps were intermingled with the sound of muttered words. Through the haze Bilbo first thought them to be Khuzdûl, until he heard the murmured syllables of his own name. He would have smiled, but he sensed Thorin was close and instead remained focused. He felt the pressure, the rush of imminent climax just as Thorin’s murmurs broke off in a sharp, “Ah!” Thorin drew his fingers from Bilbo’s hair so he would not pull it as they clenched, and Bilbo moved the hand not supporting his own weight to grab Thorin’s, holding tight as wave after shuddering wave tore through Thorin’s body as he came. Bilbo took what he could, and once Thorin finished he wiped what remained against the sheet.

Thorin collapsed bonelessly, one hand shielding his eyes, sweat cooling on his brow, but glanced up as Bilbo crawled up next to him. “What about…?”

Bilbo huffed a faint laugh. “Didn’t I tell you not to worry about others for a little while? Just relax, this won’t take long anyway,” he said. Thorin looked ready to protest but Bilbo quelled him with a look.

“May I at least watch?” Thorin, his voice still low and hoarse.

“Not much I could do to stop you,” Bilbo said, a smile turning at the edge of his lips that was quickly subsumed as he settled into his own rhythm. It did not indeed take very long, for he had been close already and each sound from Thorin had driven him closer to the edge. When he closed his eyes he did not even have to focus, the memory was waiting for him there far more vivid that any of his imaginings, of Thorin’s clenched muscles, his eyes glazed with pleasure as he came completely undone under Bilbo’s hand.  Bilbo came with a gasp, and the beginnings of Thorin’s name on his lips.

A moment of calm fell between them after they cleaned themselves, and they both drifted in post-coital peace. Bilbo’s hand found Thorin’s and he idly stroked his wrist, enjoying the little shivers that rippled through Thorin’s body as he did so. Outside the common room had gone quiet, for Thorin had ordered an early night for the company and they had all returned to their rooms. Bilbo was grateful in that moment that, as a guest of honor, Thorin had been gifted a room of his own. While hoping this tryst would go unnoticed was already a lost cause (they could not have been more obvious that locking themselves in the room together) at least they would not have to worry about traumatizing Fili and Kili.

“Bilbo,” Thorin murmured beside him. His voice was already slow with bliss and oncoming sleep, but he turned on his side, placing his face against Bilbo’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“For that? Oh, any time, I assure you,” said Bilbo, smiling for he grew too tired to chuckle.

“I’m sorry I did not…”

“There will be plenty of time for that later,” said Bilbo with a vague wave of his hand. “Besides, I was on a quest of my own this evening. Did I succeed?”

“If you mean whether or not I was thinking of Erebor at the time, then I’m happy to say you succeeded in that and much more,” said Thorin dryly.

They fell once again into silence, and Bilbo thought for a moment Thorin had fallen asleep, when he heard the distinct if unfamiliar sound of a stomach rumbling that was not his own. He glanced over, and could not hold back his guffaw at the look of indignant embarrassment on Thorin’s face.

“Everyone’s likely gone to sleep by now,” Bilbo said.

“I know,” Thorin growled.

“If it’s any comfort, I’m famished myself. But there’s not much we can do about it.”

“Had I known we’d not be returning to the common room I might have finished my meal.”

“And why didn’t you finish it before?” said Bilbo.

“For some reason I had lost my appetite. But I seem to have found it again,” Thorin said, and leaned in to press a kiss against Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo laughed and placed his own kiss on Thorin’s forehead.

“It’s late, and our fearless leader said we’d be making an early start. I suppose we’ll have to tough it out and wait until morning.” Thorin grumbled an affirmative, not one to argue with his own orders. Pity. Bilbo drew the blankets around them and pressed his forehead to Thorin’s chest, while Thorin’s arm wrapped about him and drew him close. The last thought Bilbo had before drifting to sleep was how he could get used to many more nights like this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I do hope you enjoyed my first ever slash sex scene. I've written others since, but I would enjoy feedback if you're thus inclined!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is fluff, and Bilbo is stalked by unseen foes.

Bilbo woke once during the night and experienced a moment’s disorientation at the warm weight beside him, wondering which of the dwarves had rolled onto him during the night. His first sleepy instinct was to prepare his elbow, ready to shove the offender away. Fortunately, his memory of the previous night filtered back before he could strike.

He cracked his eyes open. The moon was high and distant in the sky, the stars brilliant, and their light streamed through the window to illuminate the sleeping form beside him. Thorin’s face was unguarded in sleep, his arm stretched beneath the pillow that cradled his head. His other arm stretched out over Bilbo, as if seeking him even in his dreams. The blankets had fallen to Thorin’s waist during the night, and the dim light cast dappled shadows over the lines of his arms and back. His chest rose and fell evenly, and the moonlight smoothed on his face, erasing years of care.

Bilbo’s heart twisted at the sight, but it was a pleasant hurt and he wished only that he dared move to fetch charcoal and parchment so he might capture this moment. But he had never seen Thorin sleep so soundly, and Bilbo was loath to risk disturbing it. Instead he traced each beloved line with his eyes, committing the vision to memory. Once certain it was forever safe there, he burrowed back into Thorin’s embrace, the top of his head fit perfectly beneath Thorin’s chin, and between one breath and the next had fallen back into contented sleep.

* * *

When he woke again it was morning and the golden light of day streamed through the window, illuminating the empty bed. Thorin must have slipped out at dawn, careful not to wake Bilbo as he dressed, and begun to ready their preparations to depart. Bilbo would never have thought Thorin or any dwarf capable of being so silent, or perhaps he had simply been more exhausted than he believed, for he had heard nothing. Nonetheless he had slept better than any night since Bag End, perhaps better even than there. For he found himself anticipating the day with a joy he had not known since he was a child, itching to explore the woods of the Shire in search of adventure.

To that end he splashed his face quickly in the washbowl, enjoying what would likely be their last taste of civilization for some time. His clothes were scattered about the room, but he doubted anyone would notice the wrinkles, and his fingers flew as he buttoned his vest and threw on his coat and trousers. There was not much else to gather since they had lost their belongings to the spiders and elves of Mirkwood, but he double-checked that the ring was safely in his pocket, and Sting was propped against the wall in the room he shared with Fili and Kili. He closed the door to Thorin’s room behind him, whistling tunelessly as he made his way down the hall, when something moved out of the corner of his eyes. 

Bilbo had only a moment to drop into a defensive crouch when two forms, one blond and one dark, came hurtling at him. He didn’t have time even to cry out before he was swept into the arms of two exuberant young dwarves.

“Bilbo, Bilbo!” Kili laughed, mussing his hair and trapping Bilbo in a hug that drove the breath from his lungs.

“Congratulations, burglar!” said Fili, less frenzied but still grinning ear to ear as he pounded Bilbo on the shoulder.

“I…what, what’s going on? What are you two talking about?” Bilbo wheezed.

“As if you didn’t know,” said Fili slyly.

“When Uncle Thorin came into our room this morning he was humming. _Humming_!” Kili said. “I don’t think I’ve heard him hum since… ever, really!”

“ _And_ he didn’t drag us out of bed like he usually does,” added Fili. “He said we could take a few more minutes. A few more _minutes_ , Bilbo, can you imagine?”

“Uh, no actually I can’t,” Bilbo said, truly boggled. Thorin had never been known to rouse them gently, and on one notable instant when they had not found shelter until well into the night he had still called them at the same time the next morning. When they wouldn’t wake immediately, Thorin had fetched Bombur’s pots and began pounding them together like cymbals. It had been fortunate that he was a good fighter, and Dwalin disoriented, for Dwalin had thrown himself at the source of the noise thinking the company under attack. Thorin had dropped the pans, catching Dwalin around the waist and some complicated throwing-twist later had pinned him struggling to the ground. The thought that he had allowed Fili and Kili, on whom he was usually the hardest, to wake gently was not just unusual but inconceivable. “But why do you think I had anything to do with it?”

“We’ve only been waiting for something like this since the Carrock, you know,” said Fili.

“We were thinking of putting bets on it actually, but Fili was afraid he’d lose,” said Kili.

“And I would have too,” said Fili. “I’ve never seen such stubbornness. You’d think the two of you were elves with the way you dragged it out.”

“Don’t say that in front of Thorin,” warned Kili and Fili’s eyes widened, and he glanced about just in case. 

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Bilbo with as much offended respectability as he could muster.

“You didn’t return to the room last night,” Fili pointed out.

“And we all saw you drag Uncle Thorin nearly by the beard back to the bedroom. We’re not complete idiots, you know,” said Kili.

At any other time Bilbo would have found that point debatable. “Fine, fine you win. Is there a problem?” Bilbo said, a bit more challenging than he meant to, but he would rather sort it out up front.

Kili gaped. “Problem? We were prepared to give you our share of the treasure in gratitude! Uncle has been completely unbearable lately!”

“Lately? That’s how he is,” said Fili. “I told you he needed to get laid.”

“Fili!” Bilbo said, aghast.

“What? It’s true. And I must say I am cheered at the prospect of the rest of our journey, knowing he won’t be snapping and growling the whole way. Besides,” Fili’s sobered, “I am not yet ready to take the throne.”

“What, the throne? Of Erebor? What is this about?” said Bilbo, looking between the two of them. Fili and Kili exchanged a glance.

“Yesterday at supper, Uncle Thorin was quizzing us to see if we’re ready to serve as his heirs. He said it was in case something happens to him on the mountain, but if that were the case he wouldn’t have let it go once he decided we’re not,” said Kili. “His mood darkened after that, I thought he was about ready to chew through rock. He would never have asked unless there was somewhere else he wanted to be, and never grown so angry unless he knew he couldn’t go there.”

“I’m too young,” Fili explained. “Not even a century, and Erebor is not a stable kingdom. There will be decades of work ahead of us, and it will take experience I do not have to navigate it. Mother will likely stay and lead those who choose to remain at the Blue Mountains, and Dain has his own responsibilities, though he could take over if the situation was dire. Balin is old, and may not live long enough to prepare me. Besides, it is not his responsibility and I think he has other plans after Erebor. The others would not even consider it.”

“So you see, there really is no one else except Thorin, not for a long time,” said Kili. “And for some reason that was upsetting him yesterday.”

“Very unusual, considering he’s only thought of Erebor as long as I’ve known him. Don’t you agree, Mister Baggins?” said Fili.

“I…yes, very unusual. Will you two excuse me?” Bilbo said, feeling a bit dazed. Where was Thorin? He needed to talk to him.

“Of course. Until later Mister Baggins, or should I say Uncle Bilbo?” said Kili, but Bilbo was too distracted to do more than wave off the jibe.

He found Thorin outside, directing the loading of their supplies onto the boats that would take them down the river to the mountain. Beyond him, on the center quay, it looked as if some sort of going-away celebration was being set up, organized by the people of Lake-town. Bilbo caught up to Thorin just as the last of the packs were lashed into place, touching him on the shoulder once it seemed safe to do so.

Thorin turned, and at the sight of Bilbo his expression brightened into one of those smiles that were swiftly becoming far less rare. “You’re up. I hope I did not disturb you this morning.”

“No, not at all, I didn’t even hear you leave. Listen, can I talk to you for a moment?” Thorin’s expression changed, growing serious as Bilbo drew him aside.

“Is something wrong?”

Bilbo paused, chewing his lip as he tried to frame what he was about to say. He wasn’t even sure if he’d understood correctly, or if he should be pleased or annoyed. “I just heard from Fili and Kili that you all were talking with them about the succession of Erebor last night.”

The change that came over Thorin was dramatic, melting from stern, to relieved, to amused. “Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all, what else… Oh. Oh!” Bilbo hand flew to his mouth as he realized how this must have looked. It was their first time seeing each other awake after last night, and what does he do? Solemnly pull Thorin aside to say they need to “talk”. Had their positions been reversed he knew his own heart would have fallen to his feet. “That is… I just…it’s not that important, we can talk about it later,” he gabbled. “What I mean is, last night was…there’s no complaints there, I assure you, I just…”

Thorin snorted a laugh. “I understand. And I have time now, what is it that troubled you?”

“Oh, well, last night, you asked Fili if he was ready to be your heir.”

“Yes, and?” said Thorin and inclined his head inquisitively, waiting for Bilbo to go on.

“Uh, what I mean to say is, why?”

Thorin considered this, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. “At the time I’m not sure I knew, or at least I would not have admitted to it. But I think in some corner of my heart I hoped I was wrong, and that one of them might be ready to take my place so I would be free to return with you to your home.”

“Come to Bag End? But neither of us had said anything yet, you had no way of knowing…”

“No, but I was willing to risk it,” said Thorin with a faint smile that turned rueful as he continued. “Not that it would have mattered. Kili is not ready at all, and though Fili is wise for his years, and an excellent warrior, he knows little of leading others in anything except battle. Erebor will need more than that if it is to survive.”

“You mean you tormented those poor boys for hours just because you were upset that you couldn’t run away with me?” Bilbo snorted in amusement. He replayed the previous night’s events in his head, Fili and Kili with their heads bowed almost to their stew as Thorin berated them. The poor boys had probably no idea what they had done to deserve it, or why the matter of their preparation for kingship should suddenly return without warning.

“It’s true, my mood did sour a bit after that,” Thorin admitted.

“Sour? I’ve seen wargs that are more cheerful than Thorin Oakenshield on a bad day!”

Thorin scowled at him, but the look was exaggerated for effect. “I am not so bad as that. And you do yourself a disservice. If I was angry it was only because of how much I wished to accept.”

A small part of him puffed up with pride at the thought that he, Bilbo Baggins, had something to offer that Thorin Oakenshield wanted more than Erebor, but it seemed ungenerous so say so aloud.  But some of it must have shown on his face for he could feel himself grinning and saw Thorin’s answering smile just as he leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of Bilbo’s lips. And at that Bilbo blushed for an entirely different reason.

“W-what are you doing?” he hissed. “We’re in public! The others might…”

 “I already told the rest of the company this morning, all except Fili and Kili who still slept,” said Thorin.

“Oh, that’s good…. No, wait.” Bilbo put up a finger and glared up at Thorin from beneath his eyebrows. “You told the _entire_ company?”

“And why not? It affects them, they have a right to know,” said Thorin.

“Good gracious, and I thought you dwarves were all about privacy! Did it even occur to you that this was between the two of us?”

“But it’s not,” said Thorin. “Not as long as the quest lasts. We will be in tight quarters in the coming weeks, and it is better that they know. Or would you rather have them barging into our tent in the middle of the night?” That image was enough to shut Bilbo up, and though he grumbled he saw Thorin’s point. Still, there must have been a more discreet time to do so. He could only imagine Thorin walking into each of their rooms that morning saying, ‘Get up, breakfast is at six. Oh, and Bilbo and I shagged last night and will continue to do so for the rest of the journey, so don’t bother us. Now hurry up.’ He probably would be that matter-of-fact about it too. And knowing them, they probably just grumbled, ‘We know,’ and rolled over back to sleep. “Besides,” Thorin said, leaning in to growl in Bilbo’s ear. “I have plans for you that I’ll not have them interrupting.”

Bilbo could feel a blush creeping to the roots of his hair. “Fine, fine! Have it your way. When do we leave, anyway? Everything seems about ready here.”

“The Master of Lake-town is throwing us some sort of farewell party. Or at least his people are, I’m not sure he approves,” said Thorin. “But once that’s done we will set out immediately.”

“I’ll gather my things then,” said Bilbo, turning before Thorin could snatch him back for some other embarrassing display of affection (not that the Took part of him minded, but the Baggins side was still rocking back and forth and hugging himself in horror at the scandal of it).

“While you’re there, will you fetch Fili and Kili for me? I have something heavy that needs moving,” said Thorin.

“I’ll pass it along. What is it?” said Bilbo.

“I’m not sure yet, but I will find something,” said Thorin.

Bilbo laughed at this and trotted off, quite proud of himself that he only glanced back once but secretly delighted to catch Thorin watching him as well.                                                                                                   


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the company reaches the mountain, and the honeymoon ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, another fic ate my brain and wouldn't let me return to this until it was complete. You can read "No Heir of Durin" on my profile page; it's Thorin/Bilbo where Frodo is their son (because dwarven gender is complicated), but otherwise canon compliant and thus very, very emotionally painful.
> 
> Anyway I've fudged the timeline in this chapter a little bit from the book, but I'd hardly expect anything less from the movie either so we'll just roll with it. However, there are direct quotes from the "The Hobbit" in this chapter, which obviously must be credited to the great J.R.R. Tolkien. Please enjoy!

Warmed by the well wishes of the townsfolk, and no small amount of ale and food, the company finally set out around midday for the mountain. According to Bard they'd arrive just before dark, which would protect them from detection from the air, and give them time to set up a temporary camp before moving up the mountain to seek the hidden door.

"I'll be sorry to leave the beds, but if I don't see another fish again for a month I'll not count it a loss," muttered Fili to Bilbo as they prepared to shove away from the piers of Lake-town. It was still loud enough for Thorin to hear, since he had remained as close as circumstance would allow to Bilbo's side. Bilbo had been relieved that this brought no comment from the company, not since Fili and Kili's exuberant greeting. They seemed to take the new development between Bilbo and Thorin as a matter of course, or perhaps something long expected, and proceeded to treat it as if it had always been the case.

"You may well wish for such fresh provisions before this is done," Thorin said.

"I've no doubt of it," Fili said. "I'm sure I will long for the good fish casserole of Lake-town, and the fish pie, and the fish stew. Did you have a chance to try the stuffed fish, Uncle? I believe they had it stuffed with an entirely different kind of fish, imagine that." Thorin grunted, and Bilbo had to smother a laugh at the hint of green in his stern expression.

The mood of the company was light as they departed, and they began the journey with songs far more cheerful than the dirge sung at Bag End. Fili and Kili seemed particularly delighted by the music with which the people of Lake-town had greeted the news of Thorin's return and they'd taken to serenading their uncle.

" _The streams shall run in gladness, the lakes shall shine and buuuurn! All sorrow fail and sadness at the Mountain-king's retuuuurn!_ " Bilbo could not recall such caterwauling when the company had sung at Bag End, but perhaps Fili and Kili had been instructed to hum rather than sing on such a solemn occasion.

"I'll remind you I only need one heir," growled Thorin.

"Oh don't be like, Uncle," laughed Kili from the other boat. "Besides, you'd have to catch us first."

"Bilbo, are you feeling up to it? I think we can manage a ramming speed," said Thorin over his shoulder to Bilbo.

"The current is with us and I'm quite rested. I'm ready when you are, oh Mountain-king," Bilbo said.

"Traitor!" shouted Kili.

"Sorry boys, but that song was bad enough when sung on key. I'm afraid it's you or my sanity," said Bilbo.

"I'll be needing one of them, so make ready to snatch him from the water once they've capsized. The supplies should float, but I don't recall if I ever did teach both to swim," said Thorin.

"Which one should I grab?" said Bilbo.

"Whoever is closest, that's what a spare is for," said Thorin. Kili was openly gaping, though Bilbo suspected it was more astonishment at Thorin making a joke than any offense at the subject.

"Mother will kill you when she gets her hands on you," laughed Fili.

"True, she may be wroth for a short time, but I think I can bring her around to my way of seeing things," said Thorin congenially.

"I don't know your sister, but I'll warrant any magistrate in the Shire would agree that listening to such howls is excuse enough," Bilbo agreed.

"It's settled then," said Thorin, and began to paddle harder.

Kili gave a yelp and thrust his oar into the water, driving his and Fili's boat forward and out of reach even as Fili protested, "He's only joking, Kili!"

"Thorin doesn't know how to joke, and I'm not taking any chances!"

They darted several yards ahead, Thorin and Bilbo in pursuit, until Thorin chuckled under his breath and settled them back to a more sedate pace. They did not want to get too far ahead of the rest of the company, which lagged behind. Bombur's boat trailed furthest as he piloted it on his own (they had feared the light river crafts would not be enough to hold his weight and a second). The talk died down after the first two hours, and eventually Fili and Kili fell back beside them, though this time they did not sing. A solemnity fell over the company as they drew nearer, and Lake-town dropped from sight. It began to occur to them that they were drawing near the end of their journey. While amongst the food and music of Lake-town it had been easy to imagine their goal lay just around the corner, and to believe the dismissal of the Men that a dragon had ever lived in the mountain had heartened the company.

But as they drew nearer, the first dim outline of the great gates of Erebor became faintly visible through a fog that hung over the water. Bilbo told himself the steam was only caused by the meeting of cold water against warm air, but he could not banish from his mind the image of the smoke billowing from Smaug's great nostrils, the tendrils streaming out the door to find them here on the water. Perhaps he could even smell them. Bilbo shivered, for it reminded him that while they drew near to the end, it could well be a very horrible end. And as the burglar, he'd likely be the first one to find out.

Thorin shifted in front of him, caught up in his own musings as he gazed upon the distant shape of the gate. Bilbo laid his oar across his lap, and placed a hand on the center of Thorin's back. Thorin would not be able to feel its warmth through the main layers of clothes and armor, but he felt its weight, and inclined his head in acknowledgement. Bilbo took his oar back up, not wanting Thorin to do work for two, and they passed another hour in silence.

* * *

They set up their camp on the west side of the southern spur, not far from where had once stood the watchtower of Ravenhill. The first order of business from there was to scout the entrance to the mountain, and for that task Thorin chose Balin, Fili, Kili and Bilbo. His expression was stony as he did so but there could be no denying that between Balin's knowledge of the terrain, the stealth of Fili and Kili, and Bilbo's ring there was no better choice for the party. Thorin meanwhile would have to stay with the larger part of the company.

"Check for footprints, scorch marks, anything that might tell us of Smaug activities these days. The main gate will only be a last resort, and then only if we are completely certain it is safe. Bring each other back safely, that is most important," said Thorin, looking them each one-by-one in the eye. Balin's usual serenity was offset by the glint of steel in his gaze, while Fili and Kili's faces were set and grim, and all four exchanged glances. As they did so, Bilbo was reminded that these were Thorin's closest friends and family, and though he might not show it openly there was a tightness around his eyes as he sent them off. Thorin clapped a hand on the shoulders of his nephews, and then nodded in dismissal, exchanging a silent look with Balin that nonetheless spoke volumes. Fili and Kili trotted ahead, with Balin not far behind at a more stolid pace, but Thorin caught Bilbo's upper arm before he could follow them.

Emotions warred on Thorin's face, fear and anger dominating. And Bilbo knew he hated this, hated putting his kin in danger, and yet anyone else would only be in more danger than fleet-footed Fili and Kili, and Balin was by far the most reliable of those who recalled the layout of Erebor. "Bilbo..." Thorin said, struggling for the words. Bilbo cut him off, stopping his lips with a kiss far less embarrassing than the one on the quay where all could see it.

"Don't worry, we'll be back soon," said Bilbo, glancing over his shoulder. Fili, Kili, and Balin were getting further away, and Bilbo disliked goodbyes, so with a final peck on Thorin's cheek he darted off quick and silent before Thorin could start overthinking things again.

There was nothing heartening of the news they brought back. Bilbo had been terrified to realize that the smoke billowing across the entrance was not, as he had previously suspected, a simple matter of steam rising from the lake but was exhalations of the dragon just as he feared. Disheartened, they had begun to creep back to camp when Kili had espied one more reason to worry.

"Tracks," Kili had said, crouching low to the ground to examine the faint imprint. Bilbo could not make heads or tales of it, though he supposed it looked something like a footprint, and there was another ahead of it leading towards the main gate. Kili cast about, and would have darted back towards the gate to follow their trail had not Balin not caught him by the elbow.

"Oh no you don't there, laddie. The winds shifting, and I'll not have you bringing the dragon down on us with your scent," said Balin.

"Balin, these are goblin tracks," said Kili grimly. Bilbo gave a rather undignified squeak of " _Goblins_?" but the others ignored him. "Two sets, heading into the mountain."

"A colony, in Erebor?" said Fili.

"No, there'd be many more were that the case," said Balin, shaking his head. "These must be scouts of some sort, the imprints are too light for a warrior, and I will bet you my share of the profits that if you go up to the gate you'll see they don't come out again."

Fili and Kili exchanged a glance. "They may have gone out in the other direction," said Fili skeptically.

"The closest orc hive is south and west of here. They clung to the side of the mountain, surely as cautious as we are before they finally entered, and would most likely return back the way they came had they made it out. Unless we want to end up like them, we'll leave this place now," said Balin.

* * *

Five days passed and Bilbo was seriously considering whether it would have been wiser to enter by the front door and end it all quickly. It was the eve before Durin's Day, and he had spent the last several days sitting on the doorstep with Thorin's map across his lap. The company had made camp in the shadow of Ravenhill, for the watchtower was ruined and far too exposed.

The party was split between a half dozen spots along the western slope of the mountain. Each had staked out a spot guarding some formation of rock that resembled a door, but until Durin's Day there would be no telling which was the true entrance, if any. Bilbo gnawed on his lower lip as he squinted at the spot on the map where the finger pointed. The whole design was so abstract and generalized that there was no telling if the trail, no better that a goat path, that led to his current seat was the correct spot or if the true entrance lay somewhere in the cliffs high above. If that was the case then they were truly lost, for Bilbo could divine no path that led higher up the mountain that would be accessible to dwarves.

Thorin was at that moment further down the mountain, near the main camp and a cluster of possible candidates now guarded by Bombur (who had refused point-blank to climb the path to Bilbo's spot even if it was the correct entrance), Bofur, Dori, and the others. Thorin stalked between each candidate, all the calm found in Lake-town evaporated, the edge of his resolve once again as hard and sharp as a blade. Bilbo sighed internally but said little, for he could not blame Thorin for being anxious so close to their goal. Still he had insisted that Thorin make an effort to set his worries aside when they slept, else the tossing and turning became unbearable. And it provided an excellent excuse for repeat performances of their first night, Bilbo thought with a tiny smile.

Yet even such thoughts could not distract Bilbo for long, and Thorin must have been rubbing off on him because his gaze fell back to the map and he scrubbed his fingers through his curls, seizing his bangs in frustration. The spot seemed right, there had even been crude steps carved into the mountainside; at least he hoped they were steps and not some natural rock formation. But there was no keyhole to be found, and no amount of shouting and banging on his part or with the help of Fili and Kili had revealed one.

"Here, Bilbo, you head back to camp. Kili and I can keep watch on the door," said Fili. Bilbo would have thought the two bored out of their minds with guard duty, but Erebor was a land of legend for them, and they did not seem to tire or lose their cheer at the prospect of viewing it from a high place, even if it was for hours on end.

"Are you sure?" Bilbo said, feeling a bit guilty to leave the two of them. "What if something has happens?"

"We can call down. Besides, Durin's Day doesn't properly start until the new crescent rises tomorrow, two sets of eyes should be enough until then," said Fili. Kili nodded in agreement.

The sun  _would_  be setting soon, which would make the ledge treacherous unless one had dwarven night vision, so Bilbo nodded and began to pick his careful way back to the camp. Though only a short distance, the many twists and turns in the rock made it slow going. In the main camp, the company had hidden their cooking fire beneath a natural outcrop, but only dared keep the barest coals for heating food and only during the day when only the faintest trail of smoke would be visible. At night they kept the camp dark, only allowing a lantern if it was hooded.

Ori and Dwalin were tending the meager fire, Ori absently stirring the stew as he and Dwalin spoke in hushed voices. The two were alternating with others of the company for watch duty over their assigned door candidates. Bilbo had seen them constantly in one another's presence whenever there was a spare moment, Ori clearly suffered a mortal case of hero-worship the warrior, and Dwalin seemed to have developed a soft spot for the earnest scholar. Bilbo turned on his heels rather than disturb them, thinking to crawl into his tent and get a bit of shut-eye while the stew heated, when he came face-to-chest with Thorin.

"Still nothing?" said Thorin. Bilbo shook his head and Thorin sighed. "I thought as much. I know there will be nothing until the morrow but..." Thorin trailed off with a huff. Bilbo sympathized, the waiting was almost as bad as the seeking, and he at least was uncomfortably reminded of their time in the cramped quarters of Thranduil's dungeon as he watched Thorin stalk the camp like a caged animal. "If we are wrong..."

"We're not wrong," interrupted Bilbo. "And even if we are, it's fine, the door isn't going anywhere and we'll find it eventually. Not that I fancy another year living in a tent on this blasted mountainside, but neither am I terribly anxious to go down there even when we do pry it open."

"And if I don't send you alone?" said Thorin.

It was Bilbo's turn to huff in annoyance. "Then what's the point of having a Hobbit along in the first place? In any case, I'm sincerely hoping Smaug will be too confused to eat me right away, but if you insist I'm sure the smell of dwarf will help make up his mind."

"There has been more purpose to your presence among us than as a simple distraction. But you are no warrior, how will you defend yourself if the dragon comes for you?" said Thorin.

"Right, because having a host of warriors provided such great protection the first time it attacked," Bilbo with more than a hint of irritation. Perhaps he was not a warrior like the others, but he had to bite his tongue not to remind Thorin of the many times where the so-called warriors of the party had been of little use, and it was Bilbo who had to drag them out of trouble yet again.

"This time will be different," said Thorin, bristling.

"How? Because there will be fewer dwarves for it to eat? This won't be a battle, Thorin, it can't be!" said Bilbo.

Thorin opened his mouth retort, but Ori and Dwalin had gone quiet, though they had no shifted their positions. Thorin grabbed Bilbo by the wrist, pulling him away from the campfire and inside their shared tent. "Then once you are there your task will be to find Smaug's weak point."

"Oh, then I am going alone?" said Bilbo.

Thorin's brow creased with anger. "You will have an important role, that I acknowledge, but alone…"

"Who else can get that close? Unless your people have another ring hidden away somewhere, there's no one else who can get close enough," Bilbo knew his voice was rising, defeating Thorin's purpose in dragging them out of earshot. "If not me, then who? Kili? Balin? Dwalin? Oh I reckon he'll cheerfully walk into the maw of a dragon, not that does us any good."

"Fine, have it your way then," Thorin snarled, dropping Bilbo's hand and turning to part the tent flap. Bilbo realized only then that his fists were clenched and he had been standing nearly toe-to-toe with Thorin, all but shouting in his face.

"Thorin…" Bilbo began, but some Baggins indignation stopped him. He was only being practical after all, and damn the man for forcing him to argue against his own self-interest!

Thorin paused at the door, but did not turn to look at Bilbo. Then without another word he closed the tent flap behind him.

_Well, there goes the honeymoon_ , Bilbo thought glumly, but did not follow. He had more things to worry about than a temperamental dwarven prince.

* * *

Thorin did eventually return, just as Bilbo was beginning to drop off to sleep. He was curled up on their shared pallet when the tent flap parted momentarily to reveal the sky and a dark form against the night. Thorin moved silently, more so than Bilbo would have thought possible, as he removed his armor and clothes.

"No need for quiet, I'm awake," said Bilbo. In the hours that past he had let go his annoyance, and found himself absurdly missing Thorin despite the fact he was only yards away in the camp. Pride would not allow him to track the other down, but there was no need to go to bed angry. Thorin made a small noise of surprise, hesitating with his coat hanging from one hand. Bilbo sighed. "Come on, we have a long day ahead of us."

Thorin hesitated, and if Bilbo knew him he was debating some way to reopen the argument in his head, before he too sighed and said quietly, "You're right." A hollow victory, but Bilbo was glad to have won it if only to put an end to the disagreement.

Thorin slid into place beside Bilbo, the thick woolen blankets providing some comfort even if the ground was lumpy and uneven. His skin was cool from the night air, and Bilbo pressed his own body full against him, putting his forehead to Thorin's shoulder. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, too exhausted with worry and argument to care for anything else, but he could feel Thorin shifting beside him beset by demons of his own. "Whatever it is you're thinking, you'd best stop it now before I send you to sleep with your nephews," he said.

Thorin stopped, and in the darkness Bilbo could not see his expression but imagined it was affronted. "I am only…"

"Shh…" said Bilbo, placing a finger to Thorin's lips. Or at least he tried to, he missed a few times, chuckling despite himself as he did so, and finally settled on shifting so he sat atop Thorin. "Here, you be quiet or I will find a way to silence you." Thorin opened his mouth to respond, but Bilbo trapped it in a kiss first. Thorin finally seemed to take the hint, and his fingers wrapping around Bilbo's as he returned it. There was very little said after that, in the tangle of limbs and warm lips scraping across heated skin. And if thoughts of the next day crept in they were swiftly quashed. Now they could only give and take what comfort there was, fingers tracing back, shoulders, wrists, lips nuzzled against the curve of Thorin's neck, a kiss against Bilbo's curls. There was no time for tears, or fears, even when the night is dark and the only sound is their own breathing. Especially then.

For tomorrow Bilbo faced the dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. This is the last transition chapter, I think, before things get serious. I know it must feel odd to have so much light-hearted stuff, but Bilbo and Thorin are on their honeymoon so to speak. And I think it was important for me to write these parts, because very soon Thorin's point of view is coming up and these chapters have helped me immensely in getting in to his headspace. I do hope you enjoyed the read, even if I found it an immensely frustrating chapter to write!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the company is trapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to skip ahead a bit in the book, because Bilbo and Smaug's interactions have already been written by one far greater than I. 
> 
> Gentle readers, we have reached the top of the roller coaster. There is nowhere to go but down. Enjoy the ride.

**Part 2**  

There was a clap like a thunderbolt as Smaug’s tail struck the side of the mountain, the screech of stone on stone, and nowhere to escape the falling rocks but down. The roar of the tunnel collapse was deafening, the air choked with dust as they ran. Terror stole all caution and their heavy iron boots rang against the stone. Somewhere at the front, silent and invisible in the dark, Bilbo dashed ahead of them. Thorin could only assume this, for he was far at the back and twelve members of the company stretched between him and the hobbit. Dori stumbled before him and Thorin did not even think, scooping Dori up and shoving him ahead.

Dust rained down around them and the tunnel shook, pebbles pinging off their armor and boots like hale. Far ahead, so far it appeared no larger than a candle flame, was a spot of golden light. Around them the tunnel was black, and the light drew the company like moths, for like moths they could not resist the golden heat, even as they knew they went to their doom.

“Stop!” Thorin roared, the words echoing off the stones. From ahead came the sound of grunts and groans as whoever had taken the lead ground to a halt, tripping over one another as they did so. He heard a muffled yelp that might be Ori, sputtering from Glóin, and a loud curse from Dwalin. Still, at the sound of Thorin’s voice they drew up short. The glinting light was now the size of a gold coin. In his mind’s eye, Thorin could see his grandfather’s hoard, and Thrór wandering those halls of treasure in his delirium.

Thorin closed his eyes, sinking in to a deeper darkness than the tunnel. The memory of the gold called to him, and need for it rose in him like a growing itch, one that would turn to pain if not answered. The mountain swayed beneath him, and the sweat at his forehead chilled as a fever washed over him. Thorin’s stomach turned with nausea even as his heart burned with lust. He did not realize he had put out a hand to brace himself on the wall until reminded by a touch of concern at his side.

“Master Thorin…are you all right?” said Dori. There was a creak of leather and clink of mail as the company turned as one, their eyes falling on him with palpable weight.

“What’s wrong, has something happened to Thorin?” a voice, Fíli, joined in. Their bodies pressed around him, and a form he thought might be Dwalin moved closer, and blocked the circle of light from view.  The gold lust fell from Thorin’s mind like cobwebs and he exhaled roughly, and his chin falling to his chest as he fought to catch his breath.

“We are not going a step further,” he said. The afterimage of the gold still burnt in his mind like a flame, but robbed of its heat now that his view had been broken. He pushed the image aside and with it the memory of how, in that incandescent moment, he had felt more alive than he had in a century. 

“But if we’re not quick, Smaug will be waiting for us!” protested Nori. 

“Then he may well be waiting for us at the gates. Our only hope lies in stealth. With any luck, Smaug will believe us dead in the cave-in, and given time may let down his guard.” Thorin looked to each in turn, or rather their dim outlines. “This cannot come to a battle. We must either escape while he sleeps, or try our luck digging our way out. But leaving now when are expected would be folly.”

Dori grumbled at his side, and with him the rest of the party. Yet Thorin could clearly envision Smaug crouched outside Erebor like a cat at a mouse hole, waiting to pick them off one by one in a burst of flame or snap of teeth. A foe so great would make quick work of so disorganized a party. Thorin took his seat on the ground, signaling the end of the debate, and beckoned the others to join.

“How long will we be down there?” said Ori from somewhere in the middle. 

“As long as it takes,” said Thorin grimly. “The dragon is cunning, and after so many years he will know these halls well, and how to pass through them without a sound. If we must wait a week before he is lulled to sleep, then wait we will and tighten our belts until then.”

Another grumble went up but Thorin did not budge, and soon the rest of the party joined him in a loose oval through the cave. There was some shifting as kin sought one another, and a tightness in Thorin’s chest eased as he heard the soft footfalls as Bilbo came to join him from the front of the party, taking his place at Thorin’s side. Fíli and Kíli also filtered towards his end, sitting back-to-back with one another to conserve heat. It was a wise move, for the stone leached the warmth from their bodies, even through many layers of cloth and armor. Their bedrolls and provisions were still back in the camp, and the little water in the skins at their belts would not last long. A week was optimistic, if not foolishly so, for even if dwarves were not as frail as Men no creature could survive long without water and maintain strength.

Three days, Thorin thought, three days before they must move, any longer and Bilbo would be at the very edge of his strength and the rest of the company not far behind. It was too dark even for dwarven eyes to see more than the edges of one another against the dim light of the distant hoard. Thorin shifted so his back was against the rough stone wall, carved by who knows what grandsire so many centuries ago, and placed one hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, the other on Fíli who was closest of his two nephews. His fingers pressed lightly, for Hobbits are not as sturdy as dwarves, bidding rather than forcing Bilbo to curl up beside him. He made space within his coat and Bilbo scooted back, wrapping the coat around himself as he huddled against Thorin’s side and drew his knees to his chest. Fíli took the cue as well, pulling his brother with him as he pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on Thorin’s other side. The entire company shifted as they recognized the gesture, brother clustering against brother as they pulled into a circle around their leader. Before long they had pressed together as tight as the tunnel would allow, and once settled Thorin let the back of his head fall against the wall as he stared up at the ceiling, shrouded as it was in shadow. The golden light beckoned from the corner of his eye and he took another deep breath, pulling Bilbo close. The Halfling gave a small grunt of protest, but nonetheless pressed against him, laying his head against the inside of Thorin’s shoulder. He dared not remove his armor, even if it would make Bilbo’s seat more comfortable, for they did not yet know when they must run next. 

Many hours passed, a half day by Thorin’s loose reckoning, but it was impossible to tell with any accuracy. A camp organization of sorts had been agreed upon by the party, each member picking their way carefully through the crowd to make their way as far back the way they had come in the tunnel as seemed safe before answering the call of nature. All breeze came from the depths of Erebor, so there was no overwhelming discomfort other than the uneven stone digging in to their backs. Thorin had fallen into a series of fitful dozes, never quite managing to sleep, when a shift from within the party woke him once again. 

It was Balin. Dwarven night vision, already strong, was exaggerated by their many hours in the dark and even in the dim light Thorin could see the distant light reflecting through Balin’s white beard. Balin knelt before Thorin, nudging his brother out of the way to do so, and leaning in until he was almost nose-to-nose with Thorin.

“There is a matter we have not considered, Thorin,” Balin murmured. Bilbo stirred at his side, and Fíli and Kíli as well, shifting forward to listen. “The goblin tracks leading in to the mountain.”

“I thought we already agreed they were slain by the dragon,” said Thorin.

“Possible, possible,” said Balin. “But if not?” 

“That’s what I said!” said Fíli. “What if there’s an entire colony of goblins infesting Erebor?”

Thorin frowned. “We have always known that others might reach the mountain before us. Do you believe them in league with Smaug?” 

“I didn’t see any sign of goblins while I was in there,” chimed in Bilbo. “And I can’t see Smaug as the type that keep pets.”

“They might not have been Smaug’s pets,” said Balin darkly. “Azog may yet hunt us, and he must have known Erebor was our goal.”

“If they were scouts then they did not return to make their report. There is still time to secure the mountain before he finds us here,” said Thorin.

“There is still the small matter of the dragon,” said Bilbo. At this the group went silent, Thorin’s jaw clenched.

“If we have not dealt with the dragon by the time Azog misses his scouts, then it will hardly matter anyway,” said Balin. And Thorin could not help but silently agree.

 

* * *

The water ran out at the end of the second day. Even when great care was taken to conserve it, the company had not expected to be cut off from their supplies and had little on them when they were driven in to the mountain. The dwarves were hardy, and their strength could well last many more days, but by the end of the second day Bilbo’s discomfort was clear. By the end of the third he grew grouchy, but even that faded to listlessness as hours past in the dark.

“I’ll be fine, Thorin,” Bilbo said, his voice taking on an edge of irritation at what even Thorin would admit was one too many inquiries into his health. “Need I remind you there’s a bloody great dragon waiting for us if we move forward.”

“And need I remind you that the safety of the company is my first concern? I cannot have anyone lagging behind if we need to make a run for it, and I would rather make the attempt while you are at strength, rather than lose some you to weakness,” said Thorin.

“Weakness?” Bilbo’s voice cracked like a whip, and Thorin only belatedly realized his error. But Bilbo sighed, settling back down. “You’re probably right, as usual. If we wait much longer I will only slow you all down.”

“If you think this means there’s even a chance we will leave you behind…” Thorin began. 

“Good gracious, no,” said Bilbo. “But I’ll remind you that only one of us has entered the dragon’s lair and lived to tell of it. Save your concern for others, and let’s not do anything foolish just because a hobbit has missed second breakfast.” His words would have carried more dignity if his stomach had not chosen that moment to make it’s protests known. Bilbo put a hand to his stomach, giving a light snort of amusement. “Not that I wouldn’t find second breakfast, or any breakfast at all, agreeable at the moment.”

Thorin patted Bilbo’s shoulder in agreement, bracing himself with the solid grounding of Bilbo's presence as he cast another look down the tunnel. There had been no sound from the lair, not even the clink of coins. Was Smaug waiting from them outside the gate? But why, if as Bilbo had said Smaug could send a gout of flame up the tunnel to, quite literally, smoke them out? If Smaug was gone then they must seize their chance now, for there was no way that dwarves and a  hobbit could outdo the patience of a dragon. If they were very careful, they might pick their way through Thrór’s treasury without leaving a trace, they could…

The vision rose unbidden in Thorin’s mind, the fourteen of them like ants amongst the hills of gold and precious stones. The wealth of ages, the triumph of dwarven craft at their fingertips. Only a few handfuls would be enough to buy every trade good in Lake-town, and every house ten times over. A single pack’s worth was more than most kings of Men could boast, fourteen would exceed all the gold in Ered Luin. And that would not even be scratching the surface of what waited if they could secure the hall, the splendor of Erebor reborn.

“Then there is no point in waiting any longer. Gather your things, we leave within the hour.” Bilbo started at his side, and a murmur went up amongst the company. There was a general shifting as the other dwarves gathered their packs, the creaking of joints and muttered curses as limbs gone numb from hours in cramped quarters were massaged back to life. But the relief was audible, for though dwarves were comfortable in the darkness beneath the earth, the company was frustrated by the idleness, and a quick end seemed preferable to the uncertainty of waiting.

“Thorin, have you gone mad?” Bilbo hissed, pulling at Thorin’s coat and pulling him back down as he began to stand. Thorin blinked. A heady feeling, like the rush of euphoria one feels from one too many glasses of wine, drained out of Thorin. He felt dizzy, nauseous, in it’s wake but ground his teeth to push it back.  He did not need light to know Bilbo was glaring at him, his words pitched so they could not be heard by the rest of the party over the scrape and clatter of their preparations. “Thorin?” repeated Bilbo, this time with concern. 

“As I said, there is no profit in waiting any longer,” Thorin said, grateful for the dark for he was not sure he could meet Bilbo’s eye and still hold his resolve.

“What happened to being certain Smaug isn’t waiting to gobble us up?” Bilbo.

“Plans change,” said Thorin, pushing himself up with the tunnel wall for support. “There has been no sound from the dragon, and if he has left the mountain then we may yet have time before he returns.”

“Thorin…” Bilbo said, and a hush ran through the party as they craned to overhear the argument.

Something within Thorin snapped, and he hoisted up Bilbo from under the arm, too quick for the hobbit to protest. “I am the leader of this company and you will  _not_  question my orders while we are in peril, do you understand?”

“Very well,” said Bilbo, his words clipped. “But I am not one of your subjects, Thorin. And I will expect some explanation, once we are in private.” 

“I know, and I will,” Thorin said, with a tired smile that Bilbo could not see.

“Just tell me this has nothing to do with me,” said Bilbo. “I’ll not be coddled, not if it risks our lives.”

The gold flashed before Thorin’s eyes. “That I can swear.”

Satisfied, Bilbo broke away from Thorin’s side, straightening his coat and the scabbard at his side. Thorin let him go, telling himself that all he said was true, and that the churning in his stomach was only fear, and not its monstrous twin: guilt.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm contemplating continuing this fic as a side project, and while perusing my hard drive discovered that I had a mostly-written chapter already done!
> 
> This fic was begun before Desolation of Smaug is released, and as it would be onerous to re-write it to be compliant with the film I will instead be sticking mostly to book canon. However, I will not re-hash scenes that have already been written by Tolkien, examples including Bilbo's encounter with Smaug, just for future reference.
> 
> My deepest apologies for the delay, thank you for patience if you're still here from when the first chapter went up!

To say the treasury held hills of gold had been a disservice. Mountains of ingots loomed before the company as they emerged blinking into the glow. Piles of armor, statues, gems, and solid oxhides of copper and gold beaten into sheets. Though cast into disarray by the dragon, it still stretched before them like the ruins of a desert city, artifacts jutting forth from the sea of coins like broken towers. The treasure of the dwarves had lost none of it’s splendor though it had become a bed for monsters. The company drew short as the sight broke before them like a dawn, and Thorin was not the only one to suck in an astonished breath.

Only Bilbo was not spellbound, and began threading his way through the room immediately, his feet remarkably quiet on the bed of coins. He stopped a short distance away and turned, his eyes widening as he saw that none of the company had moved.

“What are you _doing_? Are we getting out of here or not?” hissed Bilbo. 

Fili and Kili were the first to move, nudging one another out of their stupors. For their pause had been simple awe, and none had seen the treasure room in centuries save Bilbo and the dragon. But they exchanged a look with Bilbo as their gaze fell on the other members of the company, who seemed transformed but their vision of the treasury of Thror. Their faces had taken on a sharp, calculating look as the reflections of the golden light played off their faces like sunlight on water, flattening shadows and stealing all traces of softness and warmth.

“Bofur?” called Bilbo uncertainly. A rapt expression had stolen over Bofur’s face as he stared upon more wealth in a single place than could be found in all of Ered Luin. It was the same he had worn while confronted with the troll hoard, yet multipilied a hundred times again. His dark eyes had become pits the swallowed the room, a golden glint like a torch reflecting there.

“Nori, Dori?” Fili joined in, patting, then _shaking_ their companions when they did not respond. When dragged they stayed resolutely in place, as if turned to stone.

“Mister Balin?” said Kili, grabbing the older dwarf by the hand. Only Balin’s expression held anything more than his companions, for a tear gathered at the corner of his eye as he surveyed the wealth before them. 

“Aye lad, I’m here. But you are too young, too young to know what a sight this is,” Balin breathed. Kili cast a helpless look to Bilbo, who was already working his way back to the company. Despair gathered in Bilbo’s eyes as he took in each of the company in turn, his purpose returning only as he focused at the one who stood in the center, at him, at Thorin.

All Thorin saw was a shadow moving toward him, framed by the reflected light of the hoard, a dark shape at the center of his vision that swayed like a candleflame as it approached. Soft hands cupped his face and he nearly wept as his gaze was pulled from the sight of the glimmering jewels and precious metals so close they could be touched, could be swallowed and could swallow him. His vision doubled, then cleared as it was dragged down. A round face looked up at him, topped by a mop of curls and a face twisted with concern. No, not concern, with _fear_. The usual red blush of Bilbo’s cheeks had turned to sickly white and his other hand came up to cup Thorin’s other cheek, pulling him down.

“We have to go,” Bilbo said. He gulped, his throat working as he fought for the words. “Love, we have to _move_.” Bilbo spoke as if the words were torn from him. How odd, Thorin would have expected a blush at such open displays of affection. Bilbo had always been so…so what?

He could not recall.

“Thorin, Thorin, come on you confounded dwarf!” Thorin turned uncomprehending eyes on the hobbit, who cast nervous glances over his shoulder at Fili and Kili who stood helplessly by. Something went wild in his eyes, as Thorin had seen when Bilbo had come running up the road with contract in hand, and again at a hazy distance when he had challenged Azog.

Rough lips, chapped from sun and wind, scraped against his, but there was no softness there, only something hard and desperate. Bilbo would never kiss him so blatantly, not in public, yet he grasped Thorin by the collar and hauled himself up. His ragged breath echoed in Thorin’s ears. Not lust, no, for Thorin knew the sound well. It was terror. Bilbo’s knuckles brushed his kneck and they were clammy with fright and he was falling back, dragging Thorin forward and off balance, pulling him one handed down the hillock of gold. Coins skittered beneath their feet like loose pebbles and Thorin pitched forward, off-balance, his legs locked and unwilling.

Thorin hit the ground hard, and the gold beneath him was cold and unyielding. He shook his head, lightly dazed, and tasted iron and salt. There was blood in his mouth from where he bit his lip.

Where he was, and how he had come here called no answer to mind. And Bilbo…

Bilbo stood over him, wringing his hands, having just missed Thorin’s fall by inches. He was on his hands and knees in the halls of his forefathers, spitting blood with a head that swam as if he had drunk an entire cask of ale by himself. The gold coins dented the skin of his hand as he pushed himself up, pressing his fingers to his forehead as if to squeeze away the confusion. He did not have to go far before he was aided by a second pair of hands as Bilbo helped him up.

“What’s going on, why have we stopped?” Thorin demanded. Bilbo started for some reason, his expression stricken.

“You…the company, they won’t move,” Bilbo said. Thorin cast a look over the party and saw Bilbo’s words were true. They were transfixed, some standing and staring in awe, others crouched and running their hands over the treasure. Thorin rubbed at his bleeding lip absently, the pain was little more than an irritation, he must have tripped as they emerged from the tunnel. It was possible that he had mildly concussed himself, that would explain Bilbo’s concern.

“I’ll rouse them,” said Thorin and tried not to sigh at Bilbo’s doubting look. “Take your ring and scout ahead. Smaug may yet be here in hiding. The tunnel can then provide us some cover.”

“Go on, Bilbo, we’ll help him,” said Fili, and Bilbo nodded at this, relieved.

“I thought I saw a white light somewhere ahead, I’ll start there and work my way back to you. Don’t do anything rash while I’m gone,” said Bilbo. Thorin did not see Bilbo put on that magic trinket of his, the hobbit went a short way, slipping his hand into his pocket and vanishing from sight in a way Thorin might have found disconcerting if not for the weeks they had spent in Mirkwood, speaking with an invisible companion. Hobbits truly were remarkably silent, for even on the shifting coins that arrayed the floor of the treasury Bilbo made no sound as he moved away from them. 

Thorin turned back to the party, feeling the mounds of treasure behind him like an itch between his shoulder blades, but an itch easily ignored. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief that the sight of his grandfather’s hoard had brought on no stronger reaction. Perhaps it was the many years of distance, perhaps it was simply old familiarity, but beside the practical considerations of the value that even a few handfuls of the wealth might bring, he found it an easier than he had anticipated in the tunnel to push such thoughts away.

Turning back towards the company, Thorin realized the reason for Bilbo’s dismay. Carved from stone, or perhaps brained by one would best describe their expressions.  Fili and Kili had managed to rouse Ori and Dwalin, while Thorin went to Balin’s side, standing before his old friend and coaxing his eyes away from the gold. It took quite some time, but eventually with their combined efforts

“There will be time for all this later. Even now Bilbo is going to scout our exit, we must be prepared to run,” Thorin said, once the light of reason had returned to the eyes of the gathered company.

“- _ight_ …”

Kili perks at the sound. “That’s Bilbo now!” He edged forward, away from the crowd of dwarves which had just come free of their stupor. “Did anyone hear what he said?”

“- _L_ _ight!_ ”

Kili took off at a run, the rest of the company not far behind. Treasure shifted beneath their feet like sand and they dashed heedless of the clamor they made. Though the light grew dimmer as they traveled further from the center of Smaug’s resting place, it mttered little to the dwarves and they happened upon Bilbo at the front of a corridor. Bilbo’s stood, his hands scrambling at the pockets of the oversized blue coat given to him by the Men of Lake-town. Thorin thought little of it, since Goblin Town Bilbo had developed a bit of a nervous tick around checking for that magic ring of his, though he usually kept it in his waistcoat rather than overcoat pocket.

“Are you all right?” Thorin said gruffly as they drew to a halt.

“Nothing…it’s nothing, I dropped my torch,” Bilbo said, pulling his hand from his coat pocket with a jerk. “But I think I’ve found an exit.”

Thorin lofted his torch, illuminating the black stone staircase that was the back way from the throne room. For a moment it was as clear as life, his grandfather descending the steps to the hoard, and a chill raced through him as the vision passed through his bones like a ghost. He shook it off. “He’s right, this is the way out.” 

“But where’s Smaug?” whispered Bofur from the back of the group. A ripple went through the company as they turned each in a different direction, craning for some hint of the wyrm’s presence.

“Gone, as far as I can tell,” Bilbo said. “Not that it counts for much, he’ll smell us long before we smell him.”

“So what do we do next?” said Kili, glancing between the party.

“Get out of here as far as I can tell,” said Bilbo. “Maybe find somewhere more defensible on the mountain?”

“Leave? But we just got inside!” said Bofur.

Bilbo eyebrows crinkled and he opened his mouth to speak, looking perplexed, and finally said, “Do I need to remind you there’s a bloody great dragon that’s going to be here, oh, at any moment? And you want to wait here, in its _lair_ for it to get back?”

“Ye-es, but at the moment the dragon is out there,” said Bofur. “Could be waitin’ to pick us off one by one. Whereas some of us,” he turned, indicating Balin, Oin, and finally nodding in Thorin’s direction. “know this place least as well as old Smaug. We could hole up in here quite nicely.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake…” Bilbo began, but already he looked less certain.

“If Smaug was going to come back,” began Nori, looking thoughtful. “It stands to reason he would have done it by now.”

“He’s thousands of years old! The time wasn’t even been a blink to him!” Bilbo said. Kili nodded vehemently beside him, but Fili was looking to the older dwarves with the beginnings of a frown tugging at his lips. 

“Thousands of years old, but perhaps not all that familiar with the outside world anymore? It’s been, what, decades I think since he last poked his nose out. What I’m saying is, maybe he’s out stretching his wings. Might have completely forgotten were here, that cave in could have easily been the end of us,” said Ori. Nori looked skeptical, but nodded in support of his brother’s eager reasoning. Thorin shifted, recalling just how close the cave in had come to ending them all, and their good fortune that it had not. Not a happy memory, in any case.

“And what are we to do next in any case, eh? Poke at him with our walking sticks?” said Gloin. “Here we have the finest weapons and armor ever forged by Durin’s folk. I say we stay, and find ourselves new arms amongst the hoard! I for one am tired of wearing the rags of Lake-town. Consider it part of our profits for the journey.”

“Gloin is right,” said Thorin, and a cheer went up amongst the company. “We have no choice now but to face the dragon. But there is no finer armory in the world. Tomorrow we’ll find better shelter, and wait for Smaug to return. Let _him_ be the one who fears what waits in Erebor!”

The cheers grew louder, but were dull and distant in Thorin’s ear as he turned and looked at Bilbo. The hobbit was looking at him, and where Thorin expected to see him puzzled, or even vexed as often was Bilbo’s expression, he saw only disappointment. Bilbo met his gaze without flinching and turned away, looking at the great archway that led to the throne room and the monumental hallway out of the mountain. He stood there while the cheers went on, and when he turned back, Thorin had the distinct impression that Bilbo was avoiding his gaze.

Thorin caught Bilbo’s arm just as the company dispersed, picking their way through the piles of gold to the overturned racks of halberds, gilded swords in their sheathes, and ceremonial armor displayed in alcoves on the wall. “Let me find something for you,” said Thorin. Bilbo looked at his hand, and for a moment Thorin thought he would wrench his arm free. But after a moment he deflated and gave a resigned nod. “Gloin’s advice was good,” said Thorin, though not sure if he was trying to convince Bilbo or himself. 

“You are the leader,” said Bilbo without any inflection, but allowed himself to be guided by Thorin.

“And you would have advised differently?” demanded Thorin.

“Yes,” said Bilbo, and pressed his lips together, looking away.

Thorin knew he shouldn’t ask, that there would be enough worries without putting his foot in this, but knowing and doing are very different things. “And why didn’t you?" 

Bilbo remained silent, as if waiting for the question to pass, but as they walked in silence except for the jingle of coins beneath their feet he finally sighed and said, “Because I shouldn’t have to.”

They found a mithril shirt for Bilbo, crafted for an Elven prince whose name had long since been lost to history, from the days before the rift between elves and Durin’s Folk, long before the fall of Erebor. Whatever had passed between Thorin and Bilbo was somewhat assuaged by the gift, but it was clear that Bilbo was anxious so long as he was within the walls of Erebor, jumping at the smallest sound and fingering his pocket nervously as he watched the company with worried eyes. Eventually he was drawn away by Fili and Kili, who were eager to show him the treasure they had discovered. Thorin watched them go, but turned as a smudge of red out of the corner of his vision that meant Balin had appeared at his side.

“So far so good,” Balin said with forced cheerfulness. “We have your grandfather’s cup now, do you reckon it’s here somewhere?”

Thorin considered asking what “it” was, but immediately dismissed the thought. They both knew. He could practically see the gleam of it in Balin’s eye. The Arkenstone. “Let it remain there, if it does. There’s already been enough ruin in my family on account of that gem.”

“Smaug did not come because of the Arkenstone,” Balin scoffed. “At least, not only that. It’s an emblem of our family, don’t you care where it might have gone?”

Thorin looked away, pretending to study the hoard for traces of the Arkenstone’s opalescent light to buy himself a moment’s time. Balin too was of the line of Durin, but even he had not known the full extent of Thror’s madness. The edges of it, perhaps, easily dismissable as an excess of pride in the works of his people, an over-fondness for what all knew was a truly wonderous gem. He had not been there when Thror had fled into the vaults, had nearly dove in after the damned stone when it was swallowed by the gold. In that moment nothing else had mattered to him, not his people, or his family, or even his own life. Only the Arkenstone. Perhaps it was superstitious to think of the Arkenstone as the lure that drew Smaug, but there it was not the only disaster that Thorin could pin to the thing, and he had never claimed not to be superstitious. “It will come to light in it’s own time, once Smaug is dead.”

“Or another will find it first,” Balin said. “And when they do, chaos will descend under the mountain. Better if we find it first and keep it safe somewhere, else we’ll have a scuffle on our hands. Perhaps even a war.”

Thorin looked out over the gold, his lips twisting into a frown as he considered Balin’s words. He knew well the effects the Arkenstone had on even the most sensible dwarf. Waiting until they could bring in their people from Ered Luin to rebuild the city and sort the treasury could well lead to the very outcome Balin feared. But if they found it now, Thorin could see it sealed away somewhere safe. The more he thought on this, the more appealing he found the idea. Surely he was not the only one who risked falling to its wiles. Bilbo was here, and he trusted that the company could keep the damage to a minimum should it drive any of their numbers mad.

Finally Thorin nodded, to Balin’s visible relief. “There’s wisdom in what you say. Once we find it, the Arkenstone may be stored in a hidden place, so none may know its temptation.”

“I’ll tell the others then to keep an eye out for it,” Balin said but as he went to move past, Thorin caught him.

 “Not Bilbo,” he said. His gaze was lowered, and his voice gruff.

“Why not? Bilbo has keen eyes, he may have already spotted it for all we know,” Balin said.

“Just… not yet,” Thorin said. Something twisted within him, the promise upon the docks of Lake-town. But this was different. This was… important. Bilbo would not understand that they must find it now before more dwarves could enter the mountain. Yes, that was it. “I will tell him myself.”

“If you say so. Only do not wait too long, we’ve limited manpower down here,” Balin said. Thorin nodded, and only then allowed him to continue to whisper in the ears of the rest of the company.

Soon. He would tell Bilbo of the change of plans once there was a moment of quiet calm, when they no longer needed to fear the dragon coming down upon their heads. Thorin began his own search, not seeing as he did so Bilbo’s eyes upon him and Balin, and the nervous fingers that flitted every few moments to his pockets. First one, then the other.


	10. Chapter 10

Hours of search had yielded nothing. They’d found armor, glorious works of woven steel and gilded plate, and weapons enough to make even Fíli balk at their numbers. Yet knowing their true errand, if not the reason for the façade, the company continued their to comb through the dunes of gold for the jewel of Thrór.

On his own, Thorin wandered further afield from the searching company. There was some relief in it, to have distance and breathing space after days of huddling cheek-by-jowl in the dark. He had always been more comfortable in solitude, a necessity that the quest for Erebor had turned into a luxury. On the one hand, they should stay together lest Smaug returned to spring upon them unawares. On the other, being clustered together as one target would do little good against such a foe, so he settled for keeping a corner of his senses sharp and prepared for an attack. Meanwhile, Thorin's mind wandered along with his feet, taking in the wonders around him.

It was almost too much to behold, any single item being worthy of a place of honor in its own collection. Yet tumbled together it was only Thorin’s sharp eyes and long skill in working metal that told him of the delicate masterwork that had gone into this fallen necklace, or that upended cauldron. It was dizzying, even though he’d once been prince of this kingdom the many years of want and hardship upon the road, and the relatively modest wealth of Ered Luin, left him as dazzled as those who had never known Erebors’s riches.

A small corner of his mind that spoke with Bilbo’s voice wondered if this was gold sickness. He still could not account for minutes lost between breaking out of the tunnel and realizing he was in the treasury. Why had his lip bled, and for what reason had Bilbo looked on him with such worry? The moment held only blackout, and though observed from afar, he had never asked Thrór the symptoms of his illness. None would have dared, for to even call it an illness would have been to invite the king’s anger. So Thorin could only watch, but never know if the signs were within himself, how the earliest notes of that siren song would sound in his own mind.

What if this was it?

Thorin froze, coins pinging and tumbling against one another as he shifted on his feet. He looked wild-eyed back over the hoard. The rest of the company looked as no more than ants far below him. He felt lightheaded as if he’d drunk elven wine and he pressed a hand to his forehead, shadowing his face against the glow that came off the gold. A stone pillar rose like a tree from the piles of coins and he stumbled against it, bracing himself against the solid carven rock. The stone scraped against his palm, dispersing some of the haze upon his mind, and casting one look over his shoulder at the company, he ducked into its shadow.

A startled yelp greeted him and Thorin nearly jumped out of his own skin as Bilbo popped back into sight, his little golden ring clutched in one hand. Thorin was almost atop him, the hobbit must have been hiding in the shadows, which meant—

“You have been following me,” Thorin said blankly.

“No! Absolutely not…I—that is, it’s not exactly that, it’s, well, err…” At Thorin’s continued stare Bilbo seemed to recover some composure. “Yes. Yes that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.” Bilbo straightened his shoulders, looking defiantly up at Thorin. “It should go without saying that I’m worried about you, Thorin. You’ve wandered so far away that I doubt anyone could hear you if something happened. I know it may be imposing, but you did ask me to keep an eye on you if we ever made it into Erebor. And I must say I’m rather put out with all of this, not to mention worried quite out of my mind by the fact that all of you seem to have gone mad with this treasure when there’s a bloody great dragon that could come back here at any minute. I can’t keep an eye on all of you at once, not even with Fíli and Kíli’s help, and then you go wandering off into the middle of it all when we should be trying to get out of here and, really Thorin, I—”

Bilbo’s tirade cut off with a squawk as Thorin’s lips closed over his, capturing his words and his breath. At first he seemed too stunned to do anything, but then Thorin brought his hands up to cup Bilbo’s face and the hobbit melted against him. Thorin kissed him hungrily, pressing Bilbo against the pillar, and Bilbo sighed against him, but it seemed more a sigh of relief than of desire. He fisted Thorin’s coat in his hands, pulling him closer.

“Would it be too much to hope that this was your plan all along?” Bilbo murmured against Thorin’s lips.

Thorin does not answer, instead scraping his teeth against Bilbo’s lower lips. The image was tantalizing, as yet again Bilbo presented him with a better world than the one he knew. Would that it were true, that he had wandered off for this very purpose, smiling to himself as he heard the light tread of Bilbo’s feet on the coins behind him. That he’d led his hobbit on this merry chase deliberately, stealing away for a few minutes of well-deserved privacy, finally springing upon him once they were far enough away, pressing him against the stone and making love to him as he’d only dreamt these past days.

It was not true, and he could not bring himself to voice the lie, but like many things when it came to Bilbo, he wished to _make_ it true. To allow this to be a secret tryst in the halls of his recovered home. Here, finally, he could offer the proposal he’d been too cautious to make in Lake-town. Did they not have the mountain in every meaningful sense? Even if they did not, could he not let go for a moment and pretend it was so and allow the flight of fancy, just as Bilbo had urged him to? The image was tantalizing, and his blood burned hot as he pressed home his advantage, moving his hands from Bilbo’s face to his shoulders beneath his oversized blue coat. It fell from Bilbo’s shoulders, so large that it slipped off easily, and fell to the ground in a heap. The fabric must have been heavier than Thorin remembered because there was an audible _thump_  as it struck the coins and Bilbo gave a sharp intake of breath.

“T-Thorin! You can’t—we’re in _public_ , what if someone sees us? Or _hears_ us?” Bilbo said. A spike of alarm had gone through Bilbo, and Thorin could feel him tense beneath his hands. He found it odd, for Bilbo had already kissed him once in public before, and they were so far from the company as to be invisible to them.

A devilish thought occurred to him, though, of giving Bilbo a reason for his bashfulness. Thorin forgot the strange heaviness of the coat as he smirked against Bilbo’s lips, and drew away long enough to whisper, “Then we must try to be silent.” His hand slipped lower, snaking beneath the mithril shirt, his fingers gripping the cool skin of Bilbo’s hip, tracing lower.

“I’m not going to _strip_ here in the middle of the treasury!” Bilbo hissed, his hand closing over Thorin’s.

“Who said anything about stripping?” Thorin said, his hand traveling lower beneath waistband of Bilbo’s trousers. He hesitated there, meeting Bilbo’s gaze for confirmation. Bilbo stared at him, then let his head fall back against the pillar.

“I must be utterly mad to agree to this,” Bilbo said, closing his eyes. At Thorin’s continued hesitation he opened them again and gave a sharp nod. “Oh, alright, but if you think for a second this is going to be a one-side affair then you are sadly mista- _nnghn_.”

Thorin’s hand closed around Bilbo’s cock and found him already stirring with interest that only grew stronger as Thorin captured Bilbo’s mouth once against. He kissed deeper this time while his hand stroked Bilbo’s length. He’d only just found a rhythm, matching the speed of his hand to the tremors running through Bilbo’s body, when he felt Bilbo fumbling with at his own belt. Bilbo must have gained some experience with the mechanism, for it came away quickly and before Thorin knew it Bilbo had his own hand down Thorin’s trousers.

All thought blanked from his mind to feel those clever fingers close around him. His blood was afire and he pressed his full body against Bilbo, striving to keep his rhythm steady even as the jolts of pleasure raced along his nerves at each stroke of Bilbo’s hand on him. Bilbo was whimpering into his mouth, but quietly, as he’d promised, and they were shielded from sight by the pillar.  The bewilderment of the treasure gave way to another kind, aided by the scrape of teeth and lips, of hot breath, rumbling moans and whispered endearments that were all but nonsense. It was just the two of them and lust burning red in Thorin’s veins, heady desire that choked away all thought. For the moment it was enough, and he wanted it to be enough forever, with no sickness to fear or Arkenstone to find.

Bilbo shifted, his breath whispering against Thorin’s cheek as he tilted his head lower, tracing his lips along Thorin’s neck. The kisses were gentle, but set against the counterpoint of his fingers wrapped around Thorin’s cock, working its length, it was enough to make Thorin’s toes curl and he gasped, his hand going lax for a moment around Bilbo as he opened his eyes. Bilbo’s face was hidden by his curls as he peppered kiss against the sensitive skin of Thorin’s neck. Then he allowed the slightest scrape of teeth at the pulse of his throat and Thorin groaned, biting his lip and looking away—

To the gold. It cast the light back upon them a thousand times. It filled Thorin’s vision, as unending as the sea, piles and heaps of treasure, jewels and coins as far as the eye could see. Its light entrancing, the shine and flicker a drug pervading his senses, calling to him with its promise. He could feel it on his hands and beneath his feet, the trickle of precious gems through his fingers, the metal shaping itself to his will beneath his hand. Filling his vision, surrounding him, swallowing him—

Thorin had only a second to suck in a breath and he was coming, hard. His orgasm was sudden, like a hammer-blow it knocked the air from his lungs,  and he swore as it rocked him and his cock throbbed as he spilled, his vision blacking, unable to breathe or speak or do anything but give a long, low groan that he only prevented from becoming louder by biting down on his own lip. Thorin could not even feel Bilbo’s hand around him, or feel his lips on his throat, for his vision was consumed by an endless sea of gold and the combination of the three had turned his body to living flame, tingling and numb and whiting all thought from his mind. He came apart, his knees shuddering beneath him, numbing, constricting and relaxing each of his muscles at once.

Thorin sagged, nearly falling against Bilbo as the aftershock rocked him with a shudder. He felt boneless, his body limp from the force of it. He blinked as the haze began to clear somewhat and the heat in his veins cooled.

“My goodness, what brought that on?” Bilbo chuckled against Thorin’s throat. “Something on your mind? I’m quite sure that couldn’t have all been me.”

Thorin’s eyes opened and cold washed through him, followed swiftly by nausea. Bilbo’s skin was still hot beneath him, his lover not yet even close to coming himself, and Thorin’s mind had been a thousand miles away. Dwelling on gold beneath his hands, sparkling gems while Bilbo, warm and alive and writhing with need against him, had fallen utterly from his mind in the crashing wave of lust that had dragged him down into the hardest orgasm of his life.

He thought he would be sick.

“Thorin, is something wrong?” Bilbo said. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glassy, but as he spoke they filled with concern and Thorin could feel the edge of Bilbo’s desire flagging as his needs went untended to. “You’ve gone white as a sheet.” Thorin stared at him, then pushed the nausea away.

“Let me repay you,” he said, and if there was a growl in his voice it was because fear made his voice hoarse. He wished it were otherwise, that it was lust. He wanted that heat back, but at the very least he might try to bring it back for Bilbo.

“Is this supposed to be for Lake-town? It’s really not necessary, especially if you’re not feeling well I— _oh_ ,” Bilbo was cut off as Thorin’s hand worked at the laces of his trousers, kissing at his throat in return and a little of the heat came back with it. Not for Lake-town, Thorin would say if he dared. He wantedf to repay Bilbo for coming after him, for looking for him, and following him out here. For trying to catch him while he fell. For noticing that he was falling. He closed his eyes but could still see the gold there as he went down on his knees and took Bilbo in his mouth.

Bilbo’s fingers twined through the thick fall of Thorin’s hair and he leaned back against the pillar, his breath coming out in a fluttering gasp and his knees sagged as Thorin began to work him. Thorin tasted metal, and the saltiness of precome, but the sight of gold behind his eyelids was fading in the taste of his lover and the delicious tug at his scalp as Bilbo’s hand closed convulsively. Thorin lost himself, his fingers digging into Bilbo’s hip as he concentrated, listening to Bilbo whimper at the back of his throat, at the taste and smell and touch, in the ragged breaths that grew deeper with each flick of Thorin’s tongue.

“You don’t have to, I—oh my. Please… please don’t stop, don’t stop…” Bilbo’s words came out in a slurred rush, and it banished the last of the cold from Thorin’s veins as he gave in to his lover’s demands, working the base with his hand and the length with his lips and tongue. Bilbo’s hand spasmed in Thorin’s hair and he matched that rhythm only to be rewarded with a deeper, gasping moan and Bilbo biting down on the knuckles of his free hand as he trembled beneath Thorin’s touch.

Thorin pulled back enough to flick his tongue over the tip before swallowing deep again and that was the final straw for Bilbo, who came apart with a shout muffled only by his hand. Bilbo twitched and shuddered beneath him, and Thorin wished this could be enough to banish the rest. Let them be back in Lake-town, let the door have never opened and this be one of many nights where all that mattered was pleasuring Bilbo. Or let them be far away in Bilbo’s home and all this long forgotten.

But it wasn’t, and he was no master of imagining what could not be. As the echoes of lust faded and Bilbo sagged against the pillar, his breathing returning to steady normalcy, Thorin released him. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and closing his eyes. The present would not be banished by such simple means.

“No need for that, I have a handkerchief here somewhere,” Bilbo murmured, his eyelids fluttering as he came back to the world, patting at his pockets until he found what he was seeking and handed one of a few handkerchiefs to Thorin. Thorin cleaned his mouth first, his thoughts far away as Bilbo continued to speak, his voice losing some of the breathiness of earlier. “My goodness, I haven’t done anything like this for years, I feel like a tween again sneaking out behind the barn. Though I’m certainly not complaining. I’m only surprised that you planned something like this despite, well, you know. I suppose my fears were misplaced.”

“They were not,” Thorin said, as shame flooded him at Bilbo’s words. But he was no coward, nor was he a liar, and the charade had gone on long enough. “I was not attempting to lead you here for a tryst, Bilbo. I was searching for the Arkenstone.”

“What?”

Thorin looked away, unable to meet Bilbo’s eye. He picked the hobbit’s coat up from the ground and handed it to him. Bilbo snatched it out of his hand, hugging the fabric to his chest as he stared at Thorin.

“All of the company is searching for it. I gave the order hours ago. I had to, you understand. If other dwarves, less trustworthy ones, were to find the stone after Erebor was reclaimed it could well lead to a war.”

“Are you telling me,” Bilbo said slowly, “that all this time we spent in the mountain, when we should have been trying to escape before Smaug returned, was because you were all looking for the Arkenstone? The very Arkenstone you asked me to keep away from you?”

“Now is our chance to find it and hide it away before it may cause any further discord,” Thorin said, and heard the words ring hollow in his ears. “This is our best chance…”

“When were you going to tell me this?” Bilbo said, cutting him off.

Thorin stiffened, anger stirring beneath his shame. “I am telling you now, if you would cease to interrupt me while I explain.”

“Explain _what_? Thorin, you told me—no, you _begged_ me to keep the Arkenstone away from you. How on earth am I supposed to do that if you go _looking_ for it?”

“This is not about me,” Thorin retorted. “It is about the other dwarves. I did not realize the effect the treasure may have even on those who are not of my line. Now that we have Erebor, it is far too dangerous to leave unaccounted for.”

“ _Have_ Erebor? Thorin, you have _nothing_. Smaug is still out there,” Bilbo said, jabbing his finger towards the door. “All we have are our lives, which you’re risking for a _bauble_.”

“It is not a _bauble_ ,” Thorin said. “You know nothing of it save what I have told you. You cannot possibly understand the risk it poses.”

“I think I understand it quite well. I’m looking at it right now,” Bilbo said.

“Then I rescind the order, and ask that you cease to _question_ me and get down there with the others,” Thorin snapped. “The sooner we find it, the sooner we may leave this place, as you wish.”

“ _Never_ ,” Bilbo snapped right back at him. “I would rather see it buried than in your hands. This is madness, Thorin, and I will have no part of it. If you want me at all, I will be waiting by the door. You may join me there once you’ve returned to your senses.” Bilbo turned on his heels, storming down the golden coins towards the exit of the treasury. He still held his coat clutched against his chest and his faces was very pale.

Thorin turned and with kicked at the coins beneath his feet with a snarl. Fury was like fire in his veins, but just as it spiked it was already fading and he covered his eyes with a broad hand as he cursed himself under his breath. What had possessed him to snap at Bilbo like that? The hobbit had done no more than he was asked, and could not be blamed for holding to his original orders.

Thorin knew he should apologize, and try to explain better the necessity of finding the jewel before they could leave. He was just about to follow after Bilbo, who was now a long ways down the dunes of gold, moving past the company who turned to look at him as he went, when something caught Thorin’s eye. It arrested his attention, and he could no more look away than if it were indeed the Arkenstone for the sight of it was just as familiar.

Something that glinted of emerald.

**Author's Note:**

> To see the progress on "Nightmares" between chapter postings, you can go to http://www.avelera.tumblr.com/tagged/nightmares-fic for all your creative flailing needs.  
> You can also go there just to geek out about "The Hobbit" with me!


End file.
